Black Moon
by Eyeneversleep
Summary: Chronicles Arthur's backstory up to Inception and beyond.Based off the livejournal prompt: "Arthur is touch deprived." Explains how/why Arthur is touch deprived and how Eames eventually helps him. M for language/themes Chap 9 is up! Review if u want more
1. Ashes to Ashes of our Youth

Black Moon

Ashes to Ashes of our Youth

A little stream of light trickled in through the metal mini blinds, bathing the tile with a little patch of light.

Arthur drew his damp knees tighter to his chest, inching away from it, wanting the darkness.

Wet hair fell into his face plastering to his all ready tear filled eyes, vision swimming and dancing.

She wasn't swimming.

He thought that the world was spinning that maybe he had gotten so lost that the world had literally grasped at him and drew him under.

After a moment he realized he was rocking back and forth, in an attempt to calm himself.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, wet and hiding, but not hiding, the cold of tile floor seeping into his bottom, traveling up into other parts of his body, burying into his very bones.

Though their house was large they would find him eventually and hiding in a bathroom was nothing short of uncreative.

His eyes had adjusted to the gloom though his eyes were still bleary and hurt, they hurt so much and he couldn't keep them away from the window.

It wasn't that late in the evening but it was all ready so dark, the world seemingly plunged in darkness, a Black Moon his father had called it. It only happened every few years.

He curled himself tighter into himself, a lame attempt to disappear, rocking ever so gently.

He wished someone would teach him how to live.

* * *

His earliest memories were of her watching him, just watching. Her big, brown, liquid eyes, so much like his own were dark reflective pools, himself reflected back in them as she observed him. And he remembered her hands-always shredded, dry, near bleeding, red and puffy.

He would reach out a hand to her but she would turn her back, back to whatever she was doing, deemed more important.

It was never spoken between them but he knew, even at four or five years old that he shouldn't try to touch her.

He was a happy enough child though he was left to his own devices most of the time, to roam their huge house and discover what there was to life.

He had nannies and they had a housekeeper that tended to him since his mother was "afraid of his germs" he often heard them murmur. He didn't know what germs were but he wished he didn't have them.

The nannies dressed and fed him but never stayed long enough to offer him much comfort.

His mother would get in angry terrible fits and fire the nannies before he could even develop any kind of relationships with them.

His father was away so much. He didn't understand until he was about six or seven that a military father meant that he needed to be away to "protect the country" but there was no one to protect himself from his mother.

He again didn't need to be told to know this.

He was six, playing on the white, expansive, sparkling clean kitchen floor.

She was in her usual spot, hunched over the kitchen sink scrubbing away at something or other. He knew better than to try to bother her when she was like this, in one of her routines, he would only be scolded, shooed away or hit with a wooden spoon if he tried to get her attention.

Her stiff, red starchy dress barely moved but her strong thin arms were working something in the sink.

When he thought back to her he often saw her in the faded red dress, long green latex gloves on, almost up to her elbows. This is what she was to him-a person that lived in the same house as him, someone that he watched. They watched each other, that's all they ever had. Two spectators that glided around each other silently almost like ghosts.

She would take a break, leaning against the kitchen island, looking exhausted, muttering something to herself, holding dripping wet green gloves up like she was s surgeon, she would scrub away at the floor later he knew. She had her patterns; it was always the same routine.

He did too.

When he knew she was going to be occupied for some time and he got bored with playing with his trucks he would sneak outside.

He was just small enough to squeeze through the doggie door. The term made him giggle as they never had a dog though he wished they did. With how his mother was a pet would just throw her more over the edge.

He had heard his parents argue about blocking the doggie dog or ripping out the door that had come with the house and buy a new door, him secretly wishing they didn't, it was his ticket to freedom.

To his luck his father, when he was rarely home, didn't have time to fix the door and it went forgotten.

Arthur just had to be careful not to get caught.

He was getting it down to a science. His mother would be doing her routines in the kitchen for at least another hour, once he saw his shadow more prominently to his left he knew it was time to go, to slip back inside so that they could watch each other, their endless stupid game.

The salty breeze hit him full force and it was that moment that he always waited for. Most restless nights in his bed he dreamed of getting out of the sickly clean space, stark white, his mothers dark intense, dead eyes never moving, just watching as he played, the rooms and rooms that were full of nothing, hearing her soft sobs behind closed doors as she cursed his father for being away.

He left it all behind. The sun hit his pale skin igniting him, making him feel alive. He had to repress the urge to run and scream in elation but knew better than to draw that kind of attention. They lived right by the ocean, their house on a cliff and all he had to do was look over and see it.

It was beautiful emerald green today, rolling and crashing, spraying. Arthur was mesmerized like always.

He could watch it for hours, the chaos, the way the waves had no particularly place to go, they were free.

He would sit, fists full of grass, plucking and would watch just his mother with her vacant eyes, he was watching, waiting.

That day he wasn't careful, he didn't feel the sun more on his left or watch for his shadow going more on that side, the signal to run back inside.

He must have sat for at least two hours and slowly he heard his mother's angry voice yelling at him to come back inside.

What would she do if he just ran? If he just jumped over the fence and off the hazardous cliff to meet the treacherous sea?

She certainly would chase after him but she wouldn't be able to catch him, she couldn't dirty her hands, it wasn't part of her routine.

Arthur realized then as he sat listening to her shouts, it mixing with the sprays and crashes of the sea, the two blurring and becoming the same that he himself was not part of her routine.

Then he got angry.

He did eventually come inside but on his own time, knowing she wouldn't come after him but knowing too that the doggie door would be shut up forever, his only escape, and his father would be cross with him and give him the belt. He at least was not afraid to touch him.

His mother was shaking in anger, her face turning violet but he saw that her normally perfectly applied makeup was smeared, she had been crying. He still was angry.

He didn't have to wait for his father to come home. His uncle came over later that night and belted him himself, telling him over and over as he did to: "Not punish his mother, she was sick, he should know better not to disobey her, make her worry."

He was six and of course he shouldn't know better. What did they all want from him?

The doggie door was secured that night, he heard his uncle pounding away downstairs as he clung to his blankets, deep welts on his backside, shaking, crying and eventually nodding off to again restless sleep.

* * *

When his father came home things were different but it never lasted long.

He knew he would receive a hug or a pat on the head from him, a warm smile. Sometimes, if his father wasn't busy, he would let him sit on his lap and let him watch as he worked, doing bills or reading the newspaper. His mother was different too, her eyes weren't dead and she stopped watching Arthur, stopped crying and would even stop some of her routines, wanting to spend all her time with his father.

His father often told him he was a "clingy" child but he really had no idea what his mother did when he was away. H e didn't witness her and her routines, her rituals that could not be broken, the way she would sit perched on their sofa and just watch him as he played, dead dark eyes barely blinking. He would never believe Arthur when he told him, laughing it off and telling him he had a "wild and vivid imagination".

But his father was kind enough to him but didn't like it if he clung to his leg or "abandoned" his mother.

His mother was forgotten when he was home.

His last and maybe the only greatest memory with his father, with his strong arms, broad shoulders and cleft chin was when he took him to the neighborhood park.

He had to be eight by this time.

His father held his hand which felt marvelous. All the times that he fell and hurt himself in their large hours or woke up scared after a bad dream all he wanted was a cool hand on his forehead, a touch, a reassurance that he was ok but he never got one. He never got one iota of that unless his father was home.

If the housekeeper or nanny wasn't around he was left alone to cry it out. And cry he did until nothing came out.

But not this day.

It was fall. He remembered dead leaves blowing aimlessly in the brisk New England wind, burning leaves and other smells of autumn in his nose.

His father sat on a park bench and watched him as he ran around, elated, interacting with other children his own age, feeling flushed in the face and sweaty in his corduroy jacket, lungs working hard and then his father did something great and unexpected. He lifted him up by the armpits like he weighed nothing at all and helped him climb the monkey bars, both of them laughing, visible puffs of warm breath expelling from their cold lips, his father's crooked, tobacco stained teeth bearing in the afternoon sun.

He felt like he was a different person and that maybe this is how life could be for him now. With at least one parent that paid attention to him and wrapped him up in some kind of affection.

His strong arms held him as he dangled from the monkey bars, trying to impress him, saying he would be big and strong and in the military someday just like him.

His father would just laugh, revealing his crooked smile, telling him he was still a: "skinny little runt like his mother that needed more meat on his bones" and would poke at his undefended ribs to try to tickle him.

They laughed and joked as he worked the monkey bars, feeling never happier.

His father left for a tour a week later.

Arthur hated that word. That meant he wouldn't see his father for a long time.

His father hated goodbyes and he did too. So they never really did it, avoiding it all together. He watched him leave from his second story window. Uniform on, bag slung over his shoulder, cigarette burning, morning sun in his light hair as he walked to the garage.

He wouldn't see him for another two years.

He fell into deep depression when he left, his only cushion against his mother when he was home alone with her.

He tried to stay at school or join outside activities to avoid her but his mother wouldn't let him.

His father called on his 9th birthday. It took everything Arthur had not to cry, to sob and he settled on begging him to come home, that he missed him.

"You know I want to but I can't," his usual response which should be followed up with, wait for it...

"You have to be the man of the house while I'm away," he always said this and it infuriated him. He didn't want to be the man of the house, to have to watch over or tip toe around his mother who was getting steadily worse. Was he that blind? He wanted to scream at him. To tell him he needed to live with his aunt and uncle, a family friend, anyone but her and her dead, silent eyes.

His frustration as it often did turned to deep sadness and although he was spitting mad he was fighting back tears-something he hated about himself. Why couldn't he just get angry like Uncle Colin or his father? Like his teachers when he stayed on the playground too long after the bell rang, even the nannies went he refused to listen to them?

But no. He was crying now, deep sobs that racked his body.

His father was trying to console him which just enraged him more.

"You should be here!" he shouted, cutting his father off mid sentence, explaining he sent him gifts. He hung up the phone and refused to come out of his room the rest of the day. Birthday or no birthday he be damned if he was coming out.

He failed that night at running away, a neighbor catching him sleeping in their pool house the next morning.

He wouldn't speak to his mother for days afterward after he was punished by his uncle severely.

He would try to perfect the art of running away in the years to come after IT happened.

* * *

He was ten.

He had stopped himself many a time from calling someone, anyone about his mother-to have her taken away.

It was a slippery, dangerous tight rope that he walked.

He learned from Tommy, his closest school friend, that she wasn't a "normal" mom. She shouldn't have those routines; she shouldn't be locking herself in her room crying or just staring blankly off into space.

"It's because my Dad is away. She's better when he's around," he tried to explain but the excuse stuck to his tongue and was weak to his ears. He never admitted to anyone, barely himself, that she indeed was truly sick but he trusted Tommy.

He wasn't sure what he was afraid of. He wanted someone to desperately help him and as much as he yelled at his father that he wanted to live with someone else, she was his mother, he didn't have any siblings like Tommy did, she was all he had.

His friend's parents did think it strange that Arthur never invited his friends over to his house. He saw the parents whispering, saw their sideways glances, their knowing stares and he knew that they knew and the fear that she WOULD be taken away gripped him despite his anger and embarrassment with her. Eventually he cut off all ties with his friends, even Tommy which made him cry.

He was angry, so angry and impatient with her. She caused all this.

Now that he was old enough and didn't need nannies and didn't need help with most things, not that his mother helped with really anything anyway, he tried to ignore her.

But she had her routines, she needed to sit and watch him, even if he was just studying or reading a book.

He knew better than to disrupt her routine, consequences proved fatal he learned in the past.

It was a gray, rainy and miserable Saturday morning.

He felt even more cooped up inside than normal.

He was anxious and restless. His father was due back home the next day.

He really had had enough of his mother; she was calling to him now, wanting something from him.

Their pool outside, she insisted, needed a cover, rain was getting in, her latest obsession. He argued with her all around the house, going from room to room, their voices getting louder, her practically screaming that it had to be done or else (she never had a valid reason and once she got something in her head it had to be done).

The rain wasn't going to ruin their pool he countered but as they reached the kitchen he had enough, he knew he had to do as she asked or else he wouldn't hear the end of it.

They went outside in the rain and he feebly tried to help her with the heavy pool cover, the one they used for the heavy New England snow, to protect the pool that no one actually used, most of their house was like that in fact, rooms and rooms of things never touched.

She was fussing over it, telling him it had to be done a certain way, him getting angrier by the minute that she was taking her sweet time in telling him when it was raining and he was cold and wet.

She started yelling at him again, wailing about his father, practically crying and going on about how she wanted things perfect for him.

He reached his boiling point; it was always him, always his father, never him.

"I'm right here! You never see me do you?" And he did the unthinkable, the unspeakable act, he shoved her, so she knew, truly knew he was alive, a living breathing human being and not just a toy that she could watch like a doll with dead eyes.

She slipped on the wet concrete and as if he was watching in slow motion she fell, head first into the pool, it filled with red immediately.

He screamed things, things that maybe were words, maybe not; maybe he just needed to scream.

He did pathetically yell out to her to swim, that he would have to touch her to get her out and she always recoiled at his touch.

Then as her body floated face down amongst the red just like the dress she loved to wear, aimlessly floating, with no particular place to go just like those waves he loved so much and the laugh escaped him.

It started small at first but then as the laughs racked his body he realized it was just out of pure terror, the pure craziness and disbelief of what had just happened.

Before he knew what was happening he had gone back inside, upstairs, his mind disconnected, took him out of the situation and he sat on the bathroom floor, the best view of the backyard so that maybe he could catch a glimpse of the anomaly, something called the Black Moon.

* * *

The housekeeper found her; he could hear her shrill screams and he waited.

He heard many people moving in and out of the house, raised voices, sirens, shouting and he waited.

Police officers led him out of the bathroom, his body was stiff and it was hard to walk, he was vaguely aware of anything and he waited.

People were talking to him, asking questions but he comprehended nothing, he went somewhere and he wasn't sure how to come back and he waited.

He later, as an adult, paralleled it to being in his own personal limbo-he was neither alive nor dead, just existing, wrapped up in his torturous memories.

He didn't talk to the worry of authorities and family members he had hadn't seen in years.

His father tried to ask him what happened, his face a mask of despair, he looked so much older, hair limp, face haggard, huge bags under his eyes, his usual clean shaven face was scruffy and hard, clothes rumpled and slept in.

His breath smelled like alcohol just like Uncle Colin.

Even when his father shook him, pleaded with him he still couldn't utter one word.

Autopsy and police investigations proved she didn't just fall in.

She was pushed they said, the speed at which she entered the pool, the way she fell in and how she cracked her head open.

Everyone wanted to believe it was an accident and most did saying there was no way.

Except him.

As the days went on his father gave him these looks that chilled him to his very core.

He didn't speak to him either, it was like living with his mother all over again, the two of them walking silently around each other and they waited.

That was until her funeral. The housekeeper helped him into a suit too big for him; he was always so small for his age. She was asking him questions to fill the silence but knowing he wouldn't answer.

He scared them these days-the housekeeper and other help steered clear of him as much as possible.

It was snowing, the first snow fall of the season.

It usually brought him so much joy, now it was an annoyance, falling lazily, aimlessly, nowhere to go, all the things he ever wanted and never had.

They buried her with snow swirling all around, heavy mahogany lowered into the ground.

He didn't cry, he had no tears left.

"You did this." Not a question from his father but a statement.

His words rattled him, awoke him from his undeliberate vow of silence, he was done waiting.

And he responded in the only way he knew how, as a young boy that was rattled with grief and everything else at having caused his mother's death.

"I know."

He watched as the casket, hard to think she was in there, went lower and lower into the ground until he couldn't see it at all.

He felt rather than heard his father leave his side, left alone once again. He watched snow fall from a far away, other worldy place.

He never saw him again.

* * *

This story has a companion piece called: "White Feather" told from Eames' POV. Both stories are from the same verse and can be read alone but encouraged to be read together as it will make more sense later. Both stories run parallel to each other.


	2. 10X10, 3X3 was the house that buried me

10X10, 3X3 was the house that buried me. Did I really drown?

Thankfully his father was merciful and did not get the police involved. He wasn't sure of and didn't want to think of what would have happened to him if he did.

He tried running away again, this time he got farther but he was caught three days later, someone recognizing him from the neighborhood watch they set up, his picture posted on flyers.

He was sent to a private school in another state and lived with his maternal grandmother up until his middle school years.

He was then sent to a military all boys boarding school after that, he wasn't surprised.

Many, many bad decisions followed him to middle school.

He wanted but hated attention.

Constantly craving it and shying away from it at the same time.

To say he felt awkward and out of place would be an understatement, he couldn't relate to the other boys who seemed so happy, so eager, so put together.

He couldn't relate to women either and after what happened with his mother he really couldn't.

He had the nightmare almost every night.

His mother's bloated body floating face down in the crimson pool.

Deep red filling the pool, rain gently falling on her crumpled form as the water moved her around aimlessly.

He would wake up in gasps and screams, startling and irritating the boys he shared a dorm with.

He earned a reputation after that. He was the pretty fucked up boy that was damaged goods. He was forced to do a lot of things after earning that reputation, things he didn't want to admit he liked.

He knew at twelve, with puberty rushing at him that he didn't like girls. He never felt strongly about them before and with the dreams he had he just couldn't stomach them.

He learned the hard way that affection and fucking didn't equal love.

He was so starved for touch that whoever showed it to him he instantly fell in love with.

David, with his light blond hair and nimble hands was his first.

They were in fencing together and David would flash him these smiles and would clap him on the back, sometimes squeezing his shoulder to congratulate him when he had done a good job.

That's all it took for him.

He tried to show him, to somehow reciprocate what David was showing him but he took it too far.

No one had taught him what the boundaries were.

David never looked at him again calling him "queer" and taking any chance to ridicule him.

He was crushed and depressed for so long, thinking, knowing that something was wrong with him.

He should have learned but he didn't.

Oliver was next. He was thirteen now.

But this time it was reciprocated.

He was a year older, much bigger and taller and had strong hands and arms like his father.

He held him with his strong fingers and arms as they exchanged messy, hot blow jobs behind the school.

That's basically all their "relationship" entailed. Arthur thought he was in love.

When he learned that Oliver tried to get with all the younger boys Arthur was crushed, he wasn't special, he wasn't his.

He stayed wrapped up in his cut off, emotional cocoon and tried to avoid everyone when he entered high school.

That was until he met his math teacher, Mr. Henry at the beginning of semester.

He took a shining to him since Arthur was a good student.

They would chat after class. Mr. Henry would give him his full attention when he spoke to him and would pat his shoulder or his arm.

Arthur was done for.

He was seeing patterns with the men he fell hard for. They were all like his father, blond, rugged looking, and rougher around the edges but under their hardness there was a sweet under side, a softness.

He didn't even know if he was married, had children or what his first name was, he selfishly didn't care. He just wanted his kind eyes on him and his warm hands on his depressed flesh.

The attention he gave and the compliments he delivered were almost too much. It was like receiving a certain high.

He didn't know who made the first move and again he didn't care.

They were alone together in the classroom after class. Mr. Henry had locked the door.

He undressed him quickly and taught him all he knew about things not found in their math book.

Their relationship didn't last long and their times together were limited and few and far in between.

He was in love, deep love this time.

The way he made him feel, made him forget, it was intoxicating.

He told him everything he always wanted to hear and he didn't need to hear anything in return.

It was perfect.

About three months after they had it out in the classroom he caught Mr. Henry with another boy about his age, another student.

He watched through the little window as he whispered to him and kissed him the same way he did to him.

He ran away again.

He made it as far as Boston this time before the cops found him sleeping on the street.

His father sent someone to pick him up. His father was able to bribe the boarding school so he could return.

It was a private institution and money always talked.

There were other attempts at running away but he never got too far as the security at the school was on to him. That and he got an angry letter from his father threatening to throw him out on the street if his stunts continued.

Well, how gracious of him.

Other horrible mistakes followed as often as youths find out.

He swore off sex and everything that came with it and took up with the stoners in an attempt to escape.

Pot took the pain away and he convinced himself that the nightmares subsided.

He was fourteen and witnessed another Black Moon. He had a breakdown. He only allowed himself to cry over her at that time, his own ritual started.

As much as he could escape reality by throwing himself in someone's arms or drugs he couldn't escape the feeling from that strange phenomenon, that moon.

He couldn't believe it was four years she had been gone.

As much as he hated his mother for her rituals he was beginning to develop his own which he found out through hours of research at the school's library that she had undiagnosed OCD, a bad case of it. The constant hand washing, afraid of germs, afraid to touch him and her routines of course-it all made sense to him now.

It started with simple things. He had to tie his shoes a certain way or else he couldn't get up from his chair, fearing something bad would happen.

He had deep fears of losing his school materials, sometimes making him hyperventilate.

He had to tap his watch before he started eating-making sure it was still working, feeling he couldn't eat unless he did it. He had no idea how that habit started.

When he was running laps he had to make sure that his arms were positioned a certain way, again feeling that if he didn't that something horrible would happen.

He would lose sleep, having to go over repeatedly what he wrote or typed for his assignments, losing hours, pouring over it, scared that it was still riddled with errors and mistakes.

It went on like that until he was sixteen, the habits and routines getting worse, interfering with his school and military work and knew that he had a problem.

The nervous ticks he developed were actually rituals from his own undiagnosed OCD.

* * *

**A/N: It gets lighter I promise! Also: "10X10, 3X3 was the house that buried me. Did I really drown?" is a line from the song: "10X10, 3X3" by the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs. I own nothing of the song nor anything from Inception.**


	3. In the Darkness We're All Strangers

**A/N: I'm sorry for any errors/mistakes as I don't claim to be a military buff.**

**Also: I was tired of reading fics where upon meeting Eames for the first time Arthur really dislikes him, is not impressed, etc. I beg to differ. I think Arthur would like him and be at least a little intrigued with him even if he couldn't full admit it! :D**

**There is also a soundtrack to this chapter if anyone is interested and can download them. Just some songs I listened to a lot while writing it and felt they fit the story too! They should be listened to in order as they are listed.**

**Real Estate: "Younger than Yesterday"**

**Explosions in the Sky: "Your Hand in Mine"**

**Trembling Blue Stars: "All Eternal Things"**

* * *

In the Darkness We're All Strangers

It pained him greatly to admit that he needed help but he thought of his mother, it going untreated or ignored and it was enough to succumb to it.

He of course fell in love with his therapist.

He learned later that it was common for that happen but when he would pass him the Kleenex box their fingers would brush, igniting Arthur in heat, feeling that he was trying to show him affection.

He helped him realize he had OCD, not as bad as his mother but he was in the "Doubters and sinners" category, his rituals, his compulsions and obsessions were fueled by the idea that if he didn't do something a certain way then something bad would happen to him or someone else.

He talked about his mother, leaving out the gory details about her death, discussing her own severe OCD and the lack of parenting and parents in general in his life. It was the first time, now almost an adult, that he described in detail the events of his troubled youth thinking back to the only other person who really knew the truth, now long gone, his childhood friend Tommy.

Dr. Trollsund almost wasn't surprised he had developed OCD as it can be hereditary. Upon hearing his story he concluded that he exhibited behaviors as a child-acting out for attention, running away and so forth.

He prescribed him medication and they made arrangements for him to start his Cognitive therapy.

He met with him once a week and they discussed openly why he felt he needed to do the things he did and the thoughts he had.

They tried to work around it and thought of ways and things he could do instead, to focus on something else.

Arthur was always a good student and liked to learn and decided to throw himself into books and research. He was always good at problem solving and decided to do puzzles to try to distract himself from the itching obsessions and compulsions.

Sometimes he would sit in the library for hours and just read, research topics that interested him or long novels, lose himself to the words on the pages.

He almost got good at hiding it, sweeping it into the dark corners and recesses of his mind and heart like he had done with the unspeakable incident with his mother.

Dr. Trollsund warned him that moments of stress would bring out his tendencies which he learned the hard way. It was an uphill, constant battle.

He was still the "fucked up pretty boy who was damaged goods" but by time graduation came around he was also the "very studious, quiet, anti social, pertinacious type."

None of the boys really knew how to handle him so they stayed clear of him which was perfectly fine with Arthur.

He graduated cum laude and earned other high marks for his military work and training. He never got so much as an acknowledgment from his father but he knew that he knew. The school sent him his report cards and other updates. He was always hanging onto a thread of hope that maybe he would call to congratulate him.

He had offers sent to him every day for various colleges and military bases.

He really had no grand plans only that once he was eighteen and free from the clutches of his invisible father he could go anywhere he wanted to go, to be free as he so much wanted to be basically since five or six years old.

So why did he want to pursue the military? He could go anywhere, do anything and yet he still felt he had a duty to serve. He blamed the seven years of the military boarding school that literally beat home the points of: loyalty, duty, respect, selfless service, honor, integrity, and personal courage, these were also the seven Army Core Values.

He thought back to when he was eight years old, his father holding him with his strong hands as he dangled from the monkey bars, telling him he would grow up to be strong like him and in the military, an old, half remembered memory that still never fully faded. He still clung to the memory stupidly thinking that maybe, just maybe if he joined the ranks of the military just like his father and did a good job that he would notice him again, speak to him again and possibly forgive him.

It wasn't his OCD talking this time it was all him, an unspoken desire, not even to his therapist. It was stupid and childish but he followed it having really no other desires. He felt flustered now that he had so many choices. He had left the school feeling empty; almost all decisions in his life were made for him up to that time. Now that he had freewill he didn't know what to do with himself, no imagination.

He lived with his grandmother again during that summer after graduation, patiently waiting until he turned eighteen and could get the fuck out of Dodge. He talked to and befriended his military recruiter. He knew he had to be very careful and stay closed mouthed about his OCD. He brought up the subject as casually as he could one day when they met.

"So I know someone who is thinking about enlisting but they have some sort of OCD I think. It's not bad it just makes them have obsessive thoughts or feelings or something. Do they have a chance?"

His recruiter regarded him solemnly, eyeing him suspiciously. Arthur knew he probably wasn't fooling him but his recruiter liked him and knew about his glowing recommendations from his school, his record, etc.

"As long as they can keep that shit in check. They obviously can't come right out and say it once they go through the physical or else they would be permanently disqualified but you all ready knew that, right?" He gave him a knowing look.

They stared at each other for a while, Arthur shifting nervously in his seat.

"They are going to be watching you and your behavior during the physical like a god damn hawk, son. Get through that and you should be golden."

End of discussion. Arthur thought he had a pretty good chance to get through the physical and not crack under the pressure, his obsessions or compulsions poking through.

His recruiter prepared him well for what to expect.

He passed the ASVAB with flying colors, tests never being a problem for him.

The physical was pretty much what he expected thanks to his recruiter though he couldn't help but feel the flutters of nervousness and stress. He was thankfully able to keep his obsessions and compulsions at bay.

He applied and was accepted into Fort Irwin Military base in California. He wanted to be as far away from his father, his childhood home and his past life as he could.

He never informed anyone of his plans hoping he could just disappear but knowing again that his father would be keeping tabs on him, he always did.

His military boarding school had prepared him well.

He moved up through the ranks quickly enough and was well liked by all his CO's.

During his granted leave he was able to fly back home to visit his therapist whom he did get to talk to on the phone.

He was doing a lot better, Dr. Trollsund observing this too. The routine of being in the military may have been helping him, keeping him busy and keeping the thoughts and routines at bay.

That was until another Black Moon approached.

He always did research on it to know when to expect it. It was one routine that he argued with himself that didn't disrupt his day to day activities and life thus not really an obsession or compulsion.

It thankfully happened when he was off base. He spent the whole night holed up in his hotel room, curled up into a tight ball on the floor, holding on to dear life as the waves of regret, anger, depression and loss crashed into him, leaving him feeling battered and breathless.

He could only see her red, crumpled form floating face down in the pool, rain batting against her skin, his screams but not screams to her, the way his father shot him those piercing looks-looking right through him to the deep and horrible unspoken truth, how he became a ghost then-silently moving through his life, watching the slow, silent snow fall all around, covering her casket, an endless loop, a wheel of death.

He felt like he was ten years old again-waiting, waiting for it to just stop, for someone to help him, knowing that help wouldn't come.

He was going to be forced to relive the nightmare again and again, the memories like phantom teeth-they were pulled but still felt they were there, always with him, a dull ache that had no right to exist.

* * *

The first time he met him he had just made Corporal he had also just turned twenty one.

A couple of his buddies wanted to take him out to celebrate (for both of the occasions they said). Arthur felt it wasn't really necessary. Birthdays hadn't been observed since he was ten years old; he had long forgotten how they were "supposed to be". As far as moving up in the ranks he just tried to keep his head down and worked hard at everything that was given to him. He approached everything like a challenge, liking it, reminding him of his school days when all he did was push himself, celebrating and fun never finding their way into the equation.

He allowed them to take him to the local hotspot, a total military bar and hangout.

It was far too crowded and smoky in the bar for his tastes.

Shots were passed around. He didn't have a lot of experience with alcohol so the shot went straight to his head. He decided it would strictly be beer after that.

His friends had meandered over to the decrepit jukebox, trying to find some hilarious song, some inside joke that he never got. He was bored out of his mind and found himself at the bar.

He instantly knew that eyes were on him. He had grown to totally understand that feeling as it happened so much in his youth.

He followed the feeling to an officer to his left, around the corner of the bar, almost on the opposite side. He was leaning against it sloppily, clearly all ready having a few. Their eyes met. The officer gave him a little wave of his fingers and a wink.

He couldn't see him too well in the dimness of the bar but he could make out that his uniform was a little different, not from his base. He was handsome of course. Arthur averted his eyes, trying to get the bartender's attention.

The officer of course made his way over to him, obviously taking their eye contact as some kind of invitation.

He sidled up to him.

His uniform was definitely different, he did not belong to Fort Irwin, and this intrigued Arthur of course. It also didn't help that he was tall, blond, ruggedly handsome and had strangely colored bluish, gray eyes that were calm but attention grabbing-open and almost laughing at everything. He looked to be a few years older than him. Of course he was his type. Arthur tried his best to ignore him but he had that vibrating, in your face presence that spoke otherwise.

"Buy you a drink? I overheard it was your birthday?"

God damnit and he was British and polite, which usually in his experience went hand in hand.

He had a deep, gravely smoker's voice, something very familiar sounding. He instantly liked him.

Arthur tried hard to keep his face even and cool and tried to focus on the bar, pretending to be indifferent.

After a few heartbeats he made eye contact with him for the second time. He was taking him in with just as much interest, his calm but curious eyes roaming all over him.

He was a Sergeant he observed, remembering seeing some pictures of British uniforms, it all coming back to him, the hours he would spend at the school's library, holed up, pouring over the pictures.

"It is my birthday but no thank you."

The Sergeant came right alongside him at the bar, so close that he could feel the heat coming off of him and he waved the bartender down who of course approached him right away after Arthur had several failed attempts earlier; it was rather infuriating really.

The Sergeant shot him a look.

"What do you fancy?"

Arthur shook his head, opening his mouth to speak.

"It's your birthday and if I'm not mistaken twenty one is special in the States, you can drink now, no?"

He apparently wasn't taking no for an answer so he just stammered out that he wanted a beer. The Sergeant seemed to shrug a little at that and ordered it for him. He was drinking single malt whiskey, something that only old men drank he thought. This man definitely wasn't older than twenty five, again this intrigued him.

The Sergeant regarded him again after he got his beer, eyes roaming over his uniform and insignia, his rank.

"Well Corporal," he lifted his glass to him sloppily. "Cheers to you mate on your birthday," they clinked glasses.

He mumbled a "thank you", feeling a little red in the face, telling himself it was just the alcohol and the stuffiness of the bar, it couldn't possibly be from his kind but hungry eyes, his addictive voice or magnetic demeanor.

His friends were done messing with the jukebox, apparently realizing his absence and staggered over to him, dragging him away, saying they had more shots for him to do. He was a little relieved but also disappointed that he was dragged away before he could really strike up a conversation with the Brit. The Sergeant was concentrating on his drink but Arthur could swear he saw a little flash of resentment in his eyes and a slight pout on his lips as his friends pulled him to a table.

It was for the best he told himself. He clearly was only here for some short term mission and would be leaving for the UK probably soon. He noticed later that he was with a pose of other British soldiers as well, Privates and Corporals, all under his regime presumably.

He blamed the alcohol and how hot he was but old habits die hard. He excused himself, finding the exit with much difficulty as he was forced to do another couple shots and stumbled out the door.

He stumbled rather than sneaked around to the side of the bar, leaning against the cool brick and lit up. It had been a while, the nicotine entering his lungs, traveling up to his brain making him feel light headed. He liked the feeling though, like he was slipping out of control when his life was so in control all the time. Everyone under his team, hell almost everyone on base smoked so it wasn't surprising he picked it up but he tried to limit it. He was enjoying the solitude, the cool, fall night air on his skin, making it tingle and the almost full moon.

He felt him approach before he really heard him, again something he was almost used to and accustom to after living with a mother that was mostly silent and would follow him around the house, sometimes from room to room just watching him with her dead eyes.

He came right up to him, leaning against the building and lit up as well. He thought it was a little presumptuous and rude of him to assume he wanted company and he took back his first endearment thinking he was polite.

The smoked in silence for a while, for some reason it didn't irk him as much as he thought it would.

"Private institution or was it a boarding school, juvie or somewhere in between?"

Arthur exhaled deeply and regarded the Sergeant who looked like he was definitely half in the bag but he was hiding it well, lots of experience he noted, he was definitely rougher around the edges. Damn him for piquing his interest.

His quick assumption shocked him a little. How in the world would he ever come to that conclusion?

The alcohol and cigarette went straight to his head, making the world spin a little. The beautiful fall night and talking to a gorgeous stranger-it was the best he had felt in a long time. He decided to ride it, it was his birthday after all, and he was allowed a few indulgences.

"Not that it's any of your business but it was a very private, all boys military boarding school," he couldn't hide the little smirk that appeared on his face.

The Sergeant took a drag and nodded a little, smile on his lips; he apparently didn't even blink at Arthur's somewhat cold tone.

"You're from the Northeast. I hear the ones out there are terribly old, terribly old fashioned and well…just all around terrible," he chuckled a little.

He was perceptive, almost scarily so. He thought he had shaken his New England accent after living in California for a few years now.

Arthur found himself returning the smile; he regrettably had that affect on him.

The Sergeant flicked his cigarette to the pavement, leaning further into the wall and crossing his arms. "Private institution for me too I'm afraid. We're so used to sneaking around the sides of buildings for a fag…err, smoke whatever you Americans call it even when we're in bars. That's why I was surprised to see someone else out here," he regarded Arthur with those calm yet devilish eyes. "It's hard to break the old habits right?"

Arthur found himself nodding; in all the years at the school he constantly had to sneak around the to smoke pot, being forced into some sexual act or just to escape in general. He guessed they had that much in common. He doubted besides that and the military life there was little else.

"What's your name?"

He was half in the bag himself but he wasn't that drunk and he still felt somewhat in control.

Arthur really didn't want to have this conversation. Attachments were never really good for him. He faked social skills well enough by observing others but he wasn't good at…well this, trying to socialize man to man, a man he was interested in and was interesting and obviously trying to flirt with him, it always ended in disaster.

He had set up rules for himself over the years without ever really realizing it. Just like the obsessions and compulsions he felt he was forced to abide by them, somehow taking over his life too.

His emotions and feelings were buried under many layers. He often imagined that they were lying under hundreds of layers of sediment, rocks, bones, fossils, among dozens of other decaying things, encasing them, making them hard, impenetrable.

After Mr. Henry he never opened his heart again, the first of many layers covering it.

He had his flings and one night stands, he had his needs, but nothing lasted long enough for any sort of attachments to develop.

He felt that by choosing the military life, living on the army base with hundreds of young, good looking men it helped him in a way. It was like going to the candy store when you had a really bad sweet tooth or craving. Seeing so much of it was overwhelming and made it almost impossible to chose-this was how Arthur felt when he saw and was attracted to men on base. The Sergeant should be no different.

But he was and the alcohol and the feelings of feeling so good wouldn't leave him.

"With all due respect sir just call me Corporal," Arthur absentmindedly chewed on his cigarette, something he often saw his father do.

The Sergeant chuckled a little. Arthur didn't want to meet his eyes but after a few heartbeats of silence he threw his cigarette butt to the ground and eyed him.

He was smiling, crooked teeth flashing in the streetlight. He had his hands deep in his uniform pants, nodding his head a little.

"You really are an interesting creature for sure but I can respect your skepticism and secrecy. I'm just a random British bloke that offered you a drink and is now lingering, bothering you right?"

He wasn't expecting him to be so forward. It made him pause, words dying in his throat.

"I'd ask you to stay here a minute but I know you're on the fence now, not sure what to do, whether you still want to talk to me. If you are here when I get back, not wanting to run away, screaming great if not then enjoy the rest of your evening, your birthday Corporal," he punctuated his rank slowly almost like a tease, mocking him, mocking him and his silly internal rules of no attachments like he saw through it all.

Again it made him pause and he could only stupidly watch him as he left, rounding the corner of the bar to presumably go back inside.

He knocked his head back against the cool brick in an attempt to knock some sense into himself. It didn't work, as most things this evening were turning out he was finding. He threw his head back a little too hard and winced at the pain; it turning into laughter a second later, the whole thing was ridiculous and he wasn't even sure what he was referring to: the evening, the Sergeant, his life, maybe everything. It just made him laugh harder as he felt he was losing his grip and knew why.

As if he knew he was thinking of him he felt the Sergeant approach and was at his elbow with a beer in a flash. He stupidly stared at it as if it was the most absurd thing imaginable. The Sergeant had remembered the kind he had ordered before. He took it after blinking at it for a few seconds.

"I am surprised you're still here. Delighted but surprised," he took a long pull of his beer.

He felt he was being pulled into some vortex and he had barely said anything to this man. It was strange, completely frustrating on some levels but thrilling at the same time.

They shot the shit, mostly about work, confirming his previous suspicions that they really didn't have much in common. It was easy talk he found, the beer helping greatly. The Sergeant was pleasant and mostly coherent though still clearly mostly toasted, his speech thick, eyes a little glassy and lingering on him a little too long at times but he realized he must have looked and sounded the same to him. His accent was indeed intoxicating, a breath of fresh air. He let him talk; tell stories, even letting himself laugh a little at them. The Sergeant tried a few other failed attempts at flirting but Arthur was growing weak to them, thinking that they were charming and almost sweet.

He was reaching for his cigarettes when the Sergeant was pressing one into his hand.

He almost dropped it and jumped out of his skin out of pure shock and pleasure at the feelings of his fingers gently brushing his hand.

It felt like his body had been electrocuted. His eyes were closed before he even realized what was happening, his heart beating much too fast.

He felt so close now, hovering, warm breath on the back of his neck.

"Everything all right Corporal?"

He sounded generally concerned. Arthur's cheeks burned, he must have looked completely idiotic.

He forced himself to take a huge breath and released it slowly. He opened his eyes, his hand that was holding the foreign cigarette was shaking.

"Yeah, fine," he breathed out.

"What is this shit anyway?" He held up the cigarette for inspection.

The Sergeant chuckled, low and deep. "I thought you'd like to try and taste a British fag. It just takes one," he lit his own maneuvering to light Arthur's. After he lit his and saw Arthur inhale deeply, nodding, eyebrows raised after the taste hit him. "And you're hooked. That's all it takes," he winked, Arthur understanding the double meaning but playing dumb to it.

They were Bensons. Truly dreadful things but Arthur smoked it to be polite. It was certainly not because he still wanted to enjoy his company or hear his voice, things floating to the surface after his touch, blurring all the edges of his made up list of rules.

More drinks came after that and he wasn't sure how or why. At one point the Sergeant had put his arm around him, maybe to support himself or Arthur but again he wasn't sure how or why but he knew he was done for; the close contact was too much.

He remembered little else of the evening, too drunk on alcohol and his touch but did remember the lingering feeling of his mouth tasting like his awful cigarettes and beer.

* * *

He awoke to a blind panic, eyes not adjusted to the gloom. Once they had adjusted he couldn't focus on one thing as everything was foreign and confusing, having no idea where he was or how he got there. It was still dark out, he still felt drunk and his body had a dull pleasing ache to it just like he just had…oh God…

He tried to train his bleary eyes to the figure that was next to him on the bed but it was hard, oh so hard to focus. His head throbbed horribly as he lifted it from the pillow. The man was lying on their stomach, covers pulled tight over them, snoring softly. He took a moment to investigate himself in a lame attempt to try to understand what just happened like he didn't all ready know. He was naked, feeling that no harm had come to him thankfully.

He chanced sitting up as quietly as he could. The room spun and his head felt like it was going to split open, he muffled a groan that escaped him. He gave himself a good minute in an attempt to right himself before he tried standing. It was a bad idea. He stumbled still feeling dizzy and tripped over something, landing hard on his face. He laid there for a few seconds awaiting the inevitable doom of his bedmate awakening, total awkwardness ensuing.

It didn't come.

Arthur closed his eyes and concentrated on just breathing, hearing the soft snores of his companion.

He got up a second time. He was definitely still drunk. He stumbled around in a half stupor desperately trying to collect his clothes, discern what was his among the piles of things. It took him much too long to dress, knowing things were going to be backwards and inside out but not caring. He could only focus on how stressed he was feeling and: "escape". He felt around the small room blindly and found a chair. He sat and pathetically set about putting his shoes on. That's when his mind decided he was too overstressed and took that opportunity to tell him that he needed to tie his shoes correctly or else he would surely get caught, get court marshaled or dishonorably discharged. Waves of panic flooded him as he tied, retied, caught in an endless, numbing loop. By his inability to get up from his chair it just stressed him further thinking that his sleeping companion would rise at any moment. He took a deep breath, fingers tangled in his laces, trying to focus on the techniques that him and had gone over through the years during his cognitive behavior therapy sessions.

He tried hard on focusing on why he felt he needed to do the compulsions, why he was thinking the obsessive thoughts. He also tried to focus on something else. He succumbed that he really needed to effing pee, the thought helping him. It seemed to take a century but eventually his fingers went slack on his all ready tied laces and he got up, picking up his articles of clothing, stumbling to the door, trying hard to ignore the British uniform that lay crumbled against it.

He swallowed hard and disappeared into the cool night.


	4. Comfort in Your strangeness

Comfort in Your strangeness

Rules, lists, secrets, obsessions, compulsions and the "other thing"- these were all things that defined his life. They were not so much a part of him that they WERE him.

He was never so glad to have a life that was so regimented and so defined by control, it didn't give him much time to think about what he dubbed as "the incident".

The "incident" being the unspeakable act he may or may not have shared with one suave British Sergeant on his golden birthday.

When he did think about it he was annoyed but also relieved he didn't remember any of the gory details but this also led him to suspect that maybe he was drugged, slipped a roofie or something. How could he have gone from casually throwing back drinks with him to blacking out? A does not lead directly to C; he definitely felt there was something missing out of the equation. Would the Sergeant really resort to drugging? Though he was persistent he seemed harmless enough. It was easier to blame the Sergeant, that he drugged him or just took total advantage over him in his drunk state when really it could have been that they both were totally trashed and there was the other thing. The other thing that led him to make bad decisions in the past.

The other thing wasn't categorized yet. It was something always on the tip of his tongue and his mind almost like the obsessions and compulsions but it wasn't one or at least he didn't think so.

He was being stupid, careless about it. He should have brought it up in the countless discussions or visits he had with his therapist. But he didn't. He didn't know how and again it was because it was uncategorized, an enigma but really it was just wrapped around fear and shame. Was it normal? How could it be? How much wrong could one man really have? How much more fucked up could he be? If he opened that door he was deeply afraid of what would step out of it.

For nomenclature he would call it "the other thing", the other thing that was wrong with him, plaguing him but not at the same time. The rules helped him. The no attachments and leading a very solitary life helped as well or so he told himself.

But the Sergeant…it was all his fault. He made him think about the other thing when he was content on shelving it, keeping it in a dry and dusty corner for as long as he dared. When he brushed his fingers to his hand, the way he lost control and how one bad decision led to another it was a wakeup call, a long time coming. The rules were written in stone now, etched into his very atoms and molecules. He couldn't let himself lose control like that-ever. He couldn't let someone be that close, to be able to touch him without him controlling it or initiating it first. That's just the way it was going to be until he could ever figure out what the other thing was.

He was kidding himself- he never did want to know. It was just one more character flaw that had no right to exist.

He kept telling himself these things, confident with himself with his assault of new rules like they were strapped to him tight like armor or weapons that was until he phoned his therapist .

"Arthur, good to hear from you. I'm glad you 're checking in."

His voice always had a pleasant effect on him-calming him, loosening muscles he didn't know were tight, lulling him into security.

They chatted first just about their lives. He wasn't just his therapist, he was someone he called a friend.

He didn't know if that was what was supposed to happen or if it was a happy accident. He didn't care. He still had feelings for him too but that was neither here nor there. He knew it would never be reciprocated. He was happily married with a wife and two grown children of his own.

"How are things?"

He didn't need clarification on the question as it always referred to his disorder.

He sighed into the phone; darting cautious glances over his shoulders to make sure no one was listening in or paying too close of attention. He was always aware of them. He hated the public banks of phones and his limited time to use them but he really didn't have any other options.

He lowered his voice.

"Ok," he paused trying to formulate exactly what he wanted to say. was patient in letting him collect his thoughts.

"I had a minor setback. It didn't last as long as other…experiences though."

He made some satisfied noises. "That's very good Arthur, some major improvement."

Arthur bit his tongue. Yes it was an improvement on that but the other thing…

"What's wrong Arthur? You're unusually quiet. Is everything ok?"

What a loaded question that was. Despite things always being decided for him he felt his life was constantly a loaded gun at times, leaving things to chance. He needed order and control. To be able to roll the dice and have it come up the same number every time, something to rely on.

"Arthur?"

He realized he was just staring off into space, wrapped up in his own thoughts.

"I'm sorry. I'm still here."

"Something happened I can tell. Why don't you tell me about it?"

He knew him too well. He had been seeing him since he was sixteen years old, knew all his ins and outs.

It was all the Sergeant's fault. He did this. He was making him confess this other thing now. Damn him. He bit back his irritation, swallowing it down.

He again threw some cautious looks over his shoulder, lowering his voice even further. "The setback I told you about. It was brought on by…well by something else."

Oh, how his chest ached at just saying that, the probing little bits he just spewed out, barely scratching the surface.

It was starting to hurt just to breath.

Dr. Trollsund was silent, absorbing his words, scribbling things down in his file he imagined.

"What was the 'something else' you think?"

How would he even begin to describe it? He had lived with the feeling since…well since ever.

It was a part of him like a layer of skin. Maybe he was "the other thing"? He laughed a little to himself.

"Arthur?"

The way he gently said his name sobered him up.

He clutched the phone feeling the pain bubble up in his chest again.

"I don't know," he breathed, tears touching his eyes, he blinked them away angrily.

"When can you see me?" He clearly heard the pain in his voice and was switching gears like a good therapist, backing off the subject.

Arthur blinked a few times trying desperately to catch a grip, sucking in air.

"In a couple weeks I should be able to take a leave."

Dr. Trollsund sighed into the phone. "I'll be honest with you I wish it was sooner but I know you have no choice in the matter. If you want to talk about it please don't hesitate to call."

A runaway tear slid down his cheek finding its way to his lips, the salt taste making him grimace.

He nodded stupidly like could see him.

"I'm worried that this new development maybe triggering the OCD."

Oh, it wasn't anything new. Just something kept secret for far too long just like with his mother's…well, he wasn't going to delve into that either. And as far as triggering his OCD…sometimes he didn't doubt it.

"Yeah," he breathed, not trusting his voice.

"Arthur do take care of yourself," he was concerned, it was practically oozing from his words.

They made plans for his appointment when he would have leave.

He hoped he could keep it together until then

Lists, rules, control, routine, he let these take over, to help him forget.

* * *

That was until he ran into him again about a week after "the incident".

His CO, Lt. Alexander had requested his presence in his office.

He came at once, knocking at his door and when he was granted permission to enter he strode in noticing that there were a group of strangers all ready inside, standing off to one side of his desk. He flicked his eyes to their direction. It was the Sergeant and his little pose of subordinates.

He stood attention and saluted. After he was given the "at ease" from the Lieutenant he stood with his hands behind his back, not daring to meet the Sergeant's eyes. He could swear he could see the slightest of smirks on his full lips from the corner of his eye, he bit his tongue, trying hard at hiding his grimace.

He had no doubt that he had the worst luck in the world.

The British soldiers were here to showcase a new training program. Something the Sergeant regretted to mention when they had met on his birthday.

A British scientist had developed the dream sharing technology and was first taken over by the Sergeant's base. It was being kept under wraps at this point, it was still in the testing phases.

They wanted the United States to gain access to the technology eventually, help develop it.

They wanted Arthur and his team on board immediately. Because of this he knew that his CO was not going to grant him leave until after the training or testing was completed. He wanted to argue it, make up some excuse to take a short leave but he knew deep down he couldn't, he was needed. His appointment with Dr. Trollsund was going to be put on the backburner. His issues with "the other thing" was going to be put on hold once again.

"Corporal Marek this is Sergeant Eames, you'll be working directly under him for this project."

The two men shook hands; again he could see the beginnings of a slow smirk on the other man's face.

"Corporal, good to see you again."

He nodded his head curtly as if in a response.

Eames? What kind of stupid name was that?

And his smug little smile, he was mocking him, enjoying that they would be working together, him his subordinate. He wondered if the Sergeant had requested him specifically for the training program? As he eyed him suspiciously the Sergeant gave him a quick wink when the Lieutenant was looking down at his desk at some files. The wink confirmed his suspicions. Now the Sergeant was keeping him from seeing his therapist for something he caused to begin with.

He suppressed the urge to hit him, to do so would definitely cost him his military career.

It seemed overly hard to pay attention to Lt. Alexander's debriefing, the instructions, time tables, schedules as he felt the Sergeant's eyes roaming all over him, probably undressing him with his eyes. He was eyeing him the whole entire time, looking far too amused.

Thankfully it wouldn't be as long of a project as he feared.

Before he knew it he was being dismissed; he saluted, turned to leave.

"Corporal, a word with you alone in my office please. I have some things I need to go over with you on this project."

He highly doubted it but he was forced to obey.

He nodded.

He hated that he was using his rank for leverage.

He followed him and his other British subordinates to the Sergeant's temporary office.

He dismissed them all except Arthur, again he was expecting it.

He followed him into his office, feeling the beginnings of nervousness gnaw at his insides.

He was going to stand his ground though, again feeling like his rules were strapped to him tight.

Once inside the Sergeant immediately threw the file folders and papers on his desk, walking around it and sat down.

He motioned for Arthur to take a seat and he regrettably did.

He internally groaned.

He propped his feet on his desk, removing his hat, tossing it on the desk too, all formalities aside like they had been army buddies for years.

He regarded him, more intensely now that it was just the two of them. He held his gaze, again not wanting to back down, bend to his will.

"Fancy a drink?" he opened a drawer before he heard Arthur's reply and pulled out a bottle of scotch, waggling it at him.

He would have an almost empty bottle of scotch in his desk drawer and want to drink at eleven in the morning. This thing was going from bad to worse.

He didn't wait for him to answer; he pulled out two glasses and poured him three fingers.

He didn't want it but he figured it would help calm his nerves with the whole completely ridiculous and infuriating situation.

He didn't like how he whittled down his control, wormed his way in, how he made him feel, like he had some sort of power over him. Oh, that's right because he did, he was his CO now. He was reporting directly to him.

He downed the drink in almost one shot, the liquid burning its way down his throat, making him cough and wheeze.

Sergeant Eames cocked an eyebrow and took a drink from his own glass.

He opened with talk about work which surprised him. He actually did have things he wanted to go over about the project.

His head swam slightly after he finished his glass. Sergeant Eames poured him another three fingers again without asking.

"Why did you leave?"

He was pouring himself another glass and was putting the bottle back in his drawer.

The question came out of nowhere which he should have been used to coming from him but he wasn't. He felt heat flood his cheeks, his throat going dry.

He wanted to ask: "What?" but he knew damn well what he was referring to.

He took a swift drink from his glass to buy some time.

This wasn't professional at all.

"Sergeant I want to make something clear since we're obviously speaking freely now. This relationship is going to be strictly professional and in regards to what happened on the 21st..."

He laughed, interrupting him, hiding his smile and his crooked teeth behind his glass.

"You like spouting orders like a good soldier, you've been trained well. I don't give two shits about protocol and we're talking off the record. I want to know why you left since you were the one that wanted it in the first place."

His face burned fiercely and his hands started to shake from anger.

"I am not having this discussion with you. I will only respond to you professionally. It was a mistake. It won't happen again."

He didn't feel bad about how bitter and disgusted he sounded.

The Sergeant clearly remembered the evening better than him and it angered him even more.

The Sergeant laughed again.

"You're angry because you don't remember."

Perceptive little bastard. He was so tired of him always knowing what he was thinking. He got up from his chair abruptly, getting another raised eyebrow from the Sergeant.

"You make these little delicious noises when you come."

He cleared his throat angrily.

"Sergeant if there's nothing else you wish to speak to me about regarding the dream sharing..."

He removed his feet from his desk, eyeing him curiously.

"528 days. Does that mean anything to you? You kept muttering it in your sleep", he grinned behind his glass again.

His cheeks burned even brighter which he didn't think was possible. He absolutely hated that he remembered things about their night together and he did not.

It was how many days until the next Black Moon. Why the hell was he muttering that in his sleep?

"I have no idea. Anything else you needed?"

His hand dipped behind the desk, it popped back up a minute later clutching something.

He motioned with his head to Arthur's hand.

"I have something for you before you go Corporal, something to help you remember."

He internally groaned again.

He stuck out his hand and the Sergeant deposited something in it.

At first he thought it was a prank because he didn't feel anything.

When he looked down he saw that it was a tiny white feather like one out of a pillow.

He glared at him, veins in his forehead pulsing.

"Is this a joke?"

He regarded him with curiosity, eyebrows furrowed like he was confused, hurt touching his eyes.

He shook his head.

A white feather was a symbol of cowardice.

Because he knew his voice would betray him he turned on his heel without a backwards glance, not bothering to be relived or salute and marched out of there as fast as he could.

Once he was outside, able to breath again he let the feather be taken up in the wind, to be taken far away.

He was not a coward. He had served his country dutifully. He may have fled from their night together but he was no coward. Why would he give him something so insulting?

He said it was to help him remember? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

His mood was totally sour the rest of the day, the rest of the week.

He got acquainted with the other British privates, the other guinea pigs.

He was assured that the initial kinks from the drugs and technology had all been worked out but there weren't enough human trials with the new model that had just been developed in Britian.

He was aware of the risks. He saw it as a challenge, always loving them. Something new and different, something new to research and again keep him busy from thinking about the other thing.

He also found himself researching one Sergeant Daniel Eames in his down time.

He needed to know who the man was mostly because he had the upper hand, to know what he was up against.

Selfishly it was also in the hopes he would find some dirty secret to expose him but of course he couldn't find anything. He vaguely realized his name could be fake or had been changed or both.

He had been truthful, he had attended an all boys private institution in the UK, went to Sandhurst after that, graduated with flying colors and high marks.

So how did he turn out to be such a miserable, conniving, vindictive prick?

How did he think he was ever charming?

They went over the training exercises , unfortunately that meant more one on one alone time with the Sergeant.

It was his job to come up with the exercises, provide details, research realistic scenarios for him and his team to complete, something his CO knew he was always good at.

The British military already had their own training exercises that they developed with the dream sharing technology but his CO wanted something different from an American's perspective so it was more realistic for his team.

Another week of working with him side by side showed he could behave himself, thankfully never mentioning their one unspeakable night together again.

He felt some tension leave his body as the days went on, felt himself relax a little more around him knowing he was doing as he asked, keeping his comments to himself and being professional.

Arthur still hadn't forgotten about the feather though and still held a grudge, never returning his smiles, lingering stares or sideways glances and never laughing at his stupid comments or jokes.

The details were all set, the plan mapped out, they were in his office going over everything, double-checking the layout of the dream.

"We're going into your dream you know."

Arthur bristled at that. He assumed that since the Sergeant outranked him that it would be his dream they delved into.

He turned to him. They were drinking scotch again, like it was something they did, their thing. He was beginning to like it but he would never admit that to him.

"Excuse me? You're the CO on this mission..."

He laughed, low and deep.

"There you go again, spouting off protocol like you have no mind of your own."

He bit his tongue.

"I..." he opened his mouth to protest but the Sergeant was up and walking around to his workspace, interrupting him.

"You're better at it then me; you have more of a grip on this thing having done most of the research. Do you understand? I thought that was obvious already but I'm telling it to you now. You understand this better than me and for the sake of the trials until I get more comfortable I'd like to use your dream."

His lame attempt at a complement and praise shocked the hell out of him.

The Sergeant put a hand on the back of his chair, leaning towards him, he could feel his hot breath expelling on his neck, could smell his alcohol breath so close.

He shivered and silently willed him to back away.

He didn't want another incident to happen, for his body to betray him.

He closed his eyes and sucked in a shuddering breath.

"I understand Sergeant."

He leaned in closer, almost to his ear.

"Good, I'm glad we understand each other."

He released his hold on his chair suddenly, making Arthur jump slightly. He opened his eyes and released a breath he didn't know he was holding. He felt disappointed for some reason but also very relived that he didn't touch him.

He resumed his normal position behind his desk. "Did you know they're bringing in a government consultant on this thing? He's ex military, claims he knows the dream sharing technology already," he lit up a cigarette shaking his head, fully knowing he shouldn't be smoking indoors. The Sergeant definitely was never one for protocol in fact he prided himself on breaking the rules.

He lifted his pack to him but Arthur shook his head. It was bad enough they were drinking on the job.

"We don't have any room for tourists on this thing."

He exhaled angrily, shaking his head, the horrible Bensons smell filling up the small room.

"But you say he's knowledgeable?" He was irritated that there were last minute changes to their plan but knowing he had prior experience intrigued him.

The Sergeant made an angry hiss in annoyance.

"Another bloody American though I guess he worked with the scientist that developed it before the military completely took over, helped with the first trials at the University."

Arthur nodded absentmindley.

"When is he coming?"

"Friday," he flicked ash into a mug on his desk, propping his feet back on top of it.

He bit his tongue. That didn't leave them much time to get this government official up to speed on the process since they set the first test run for Monday morning. They really wanted to throw a wrench in the works.

"Why didn't you...?"

"Just learned about it today myself, fucking American politics. Your government has to stick their noses in everything, sending their little spies. And they don't' give you the courtesy of telling you until the last bloody minute." He scoffed.

He had to agree with him on that.

He anxiously waited for Friday, it couldn't come quick enough.

When Lt. Alexander requested him in his office on Friday he knew.

When he entered a man dressed in a sharp navy suit was seated across from the Lieutenant . They stood to greet him.

The government official was tall, blond, had square shoulders, amazing blue eyes, was maybe ten years his senior, a little rougher around the edges confirming his past military life but he hid it well with a calm yet demanding demeanor

He was absolutely stunning.

"Corporal Marek this is..."

"Dominic Cobb," he finished, flashing him a genuine, great smile revealing white even teeth.

They shook hands.

He instantly liked him and was attracted to him. He made a mental point to not let him touch him unless he initiated it.

He also oozed "straight" which he made a mental point of as well.

He again was reminded of being in a candy shop, millions of choices with a bad sweet tooth. So overwhelmed and not able to make a choice.

_Tourist,_ he thought as they all sat and he looked over the older gentlemen with his nicely cut suit.

_No room for tourists._

He looked him over carefully, liking what he was seeing.

He thought he could make room for him.

* * *

**Please review if you'd like more :)**


	5. Chasing Dreams

Chasing Dreams

Mr. Cobb definitely proved to be useful.

Not wholly in the ways he would have liked but in ways they needed for the mission.

Mr. Cobb's job was to take a background role. To strictly observe and report and to act as a go between for the Pentagon whom he consulted for. Arthur had a hard time believing that Mr. Cobb sat behind a desk normally or took a backseat to anything though as he was definitely a man of action, over excited, eager, talkative and very passionate about dream sharing.

Arthur loved that about him, that passion. How his blue eyes would flash and become even lighter when he was excited and talking about dream sharing, making him look years younger.

What first began as little comments, side notes or insights when he would sit in with them while they were discussing the training program became him losing his jacket and tie, rolling his shirtsleeves up and sitting on top of the Sergeant's desk taking the reins and directing the conversation.

Arthur would try to shoot him wary, cautious looks that he was overstepping his bounds, noticing Sergeant Eames' growing anger at him for trying to take over his job.

Mr. Cobb would get the hint after a while, removing himself glumly from the Sergeant's desk and would deposit himself back in a chair looking dejected, legs bouncing anxiously, trying to hide behind his notepad. The conversation and talk about the training program would begin again, the Sergeant asking Arthur a question but Mr. Cobb would answer for him and provide more insight and the whole thing would start all over again, a vicious cycle. Somehow his leadership role always came out from the prior knowledge and skills he processed and he wasn't able to sit still behind his notepad and clipboard.

This resulted in the Sergeant stalking off angrily, saying he needed a smoke break but really Arthur knew it was just Mr. Cobb himself. He saw the menacing sideways glances and glares he would shoot the blond consultant when he wasn't looking.

Arthur thought the whole thing was childish really, some male alpha dog complex or something. His opinion may have been skewed but he believed, even though he was a bit overzealous, that Mr. Cobb was a valuable asset and could help them develop the training program better.

Mr. Cobb had taken a short break to get something to drink and to call his girlfriend.

Arthur knew what was coming as soon as the Sergeant's office door closed and it was just the two of them.

The Sergeant immediately began shouting the second the door closed.

"We don't need him on this. He'll just be watching us like a hawk for any mistakes to go running back to the big boys. He's all ready taking over the program. Maybe that was the plan to begin with?" He was huffing and puffing, his face getting redder by the minute.

Arthur just nodded. Hoping maybe if the Sergeant got it out of his system he would calm down and they could get through the next three days without killing each other.

"And why does he need to be here all the bloody time? Breathing down our necks? Doesn't he have something better to do?"

"It's his job," he offered, knowing that he was in a mood, getting drunk in the process. He felt he had to babysit him because if the Sergeant did get drunk and got disorderly then both their jobs were on the line.

"Bloody hell it is."

He just didn't like the government meddling with what he thought was a private military endeavor and really he just didn't like the idea that Mr. Cobb might be better equipped at leading the mission than him though he wouldn't admit that out loud. And the truth was that Mr. Cobb was better equipped and if the shit hit the fan Arthur would trust him more than the surly Brit.

So Arthur had to wear many hats and his stress level was suffice to say: through the fucking roof.

He had to be babysitter to the Sergeant, making sure he was kept in line, not drinking or swearing too much, making sure he got out and left the office every once in a while to blow off much needed steam. He had to play referee- deflecting meltdowns, mounting arguments and snarky comments between him and Mr. Cobb. He was the mediator-relaying messages between the two of them because after a while it became apparent that just speaking to one another almost always resulted in some kind of blow up. He ran files and papers between the two of them, answering questions over the phone and all the while he was expected to do his own work, his share of the research and development of the program.

He didn't sleep, the whole ordeal was completely nerve-wracking and it almost didn't surprise him that the obsessions and compulsions about his research took over. He didn't sleep because he poured over everything painstakingly, hundreds of times, looking for mistakes, reading and re-reading the same things until he swore he had everything memorized by heart and until his head felt like it was going to explode, eyes burning, back in agony from being hunched over his papers and muscles rigid. He just couldn't shake the idea that if he didn't do it correctly something bad would happen.

He didn't think he was ever going to be able to get up from his desk. It was his prison. He was just going to have to sit there and wait for someone to literally drag him away from it.

He thought it was Sunday and they had broken for dinner. Arthur was still at his desk, same position for what he faintly thought was over twelve hours but it didn't matter because he was still convinced he was going to find a mistake and something bad would happen when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder suddenly that jolted him out of the obsessive thoughts almost immediately, bringing him back to the present. He finally had something else to focus on besides the ever growing need to have his work perfect. He wasn't thrilled it was concerning the "other thing" but it was something to grab onto, a lifeline.

He closed his eyes as he felt the warm touch. His eyes hurt so badly it felt glorious to be able to close them for a minute.

He felt himself slipping through the cracks, dissolving into his chair. The hand was released from his shoulder but he didn't want to open his eyes. He was too comfortable and lost.

"Corporal Marek?"

It was Mr. Cobb. He sounded concerned, faraway. And oh, he liked his voice but his concern felt like a twist of a knife in his guts. The last thing he wanted was him to be concerned about him or the mission because that would just bring on new stress, new obsessions and compulsions, the cycle starting over. But for right now he was content on sitting with his eyes closed, his solid presence at his back.

"Corporal?"

He only opened his eyes because he sensed another touch was coming on, anticipating it and he really couldn't deal with that. Things were way too complicated enough.

"Yes?"

He turned around slowly to meet his steely blue eyes, furrowed brows, and the slight frown on his face.

Mr. Cobb regarded him and his confusion and concern turned into slow shock.

"Have you been here all night?"

He suddenly felt dizzy at the movement of having to turn his head to look at him after having it in one position for so long, bent over his desk.

"We just broke for dinner," he said weakly trying to get a grip on the situation but failing horribly, trying to grasp why Mr. Cobb looked so shocked.

Mr. Cobb's eyes widened and he shook his head.

"No, that was hours ago. We asked if you wanted to eat but you were working so we didn't disturb you when you didn't answer. Corporal, it's midnight. I just happened to be taking a little stroll before I headed off to bed."

Now it was Arthur's turn to widen his eyes. He broke out in sweat. Mr. Cobb certainly was going to find out, report him and have him discharged from the military. He gripped the side of the desk.

"I must have lost track of the time," he sounded utterly pathetic and childish. Mr. Cobb was never going to believe him.

They stared at each other and Arthur wasn't expecting what happened next. A slow smile appeared on Mr. Cobb's face and he crouched down to Arthur's level, his smile never wavering.

"You should really eat something and get a little sleep before the mission tomorrow," his voice was soft and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Arthur was so transfixed by his calm eyes that he didn't realize he was packing up his papers and files.

He watched him stupidly as he gathered everything, tidied it up and shot out his hand to him once he rose.

Arthur was hesitant and didn't know what to do. Would he fall flat on his face once he stood up looking more like a fool? Why was everything so hard?

Mr. Cobb's calm smile never wavered as he waited patiently for him.

Could it really be that easy?

He took his hand after what felt like a century and although he was unsteady on his feet he felt he could walk, somehow having his presence there anchored him.

He followed him to the mess hall him protesting the entire way, reassuring him that it was all ready closed. Mr. Cobb wasn't having it but following him felt insanely natural. He blamed his light headedness of having not eaten all day and tried to keep all insane thoughts out.

They weren't going around the front of the building which confused Arthur. Mr. Cobb led him around to the back and oh my fucking Christ he was producing a lock pick. Mr. Cobb shot him a look, flashing that drop dead gorgeous smile. He raised his eyebrows at Arthur. "Do you trust me?" he asked and Arthur knew he was searching his eyes for any reservations with him actually breaking in.

If they were caught doing this he certainly would be court marshaled though again he got a distinct feeling that following this man was ok. He never was that trusting with anyone before, at least not for a very long time.

Mr. Cobb struck him as a true professional. He wasn't sloppy about anything and being ex military himself he knew the loopholes, knew the weaknesses in Fort Irwin's security probably right off the bat after stepping foot inside. He wouldn't be taking this risk if he knew they would get caught or he didn't have anything to gain. He was deadly and his forwardness did scare Arthur a little but again he was always so calm about everything.

"Yes," he found himself saying.

Mr. Cobb's smile grew as he turned his back to him and picked the lock. Arthur tried to provide cover and he had to stifle a laugh that threatened to come out at the total ridiculousness of the situation. Were they actually doing this?

And then he was pulling him inside and quickly securing the door behind him. He moved past Arthur just as quickly and systematically searched the whole area and the exits, making sure everything was secure, moving with quiet, practiced, commanding authority. He again had no doubt that this man was a deadly killer, half expecting him to pull out a gun at any moment.

Arthur stupidly watched him. When Mr. Cobb had finished scanning the perimeter for the second time, peering out a window Arthur noticed the muscles in his neck and back had relaxed.

He turned to him finally, flashing that smile. "What are you in the mood for?"

Arthur stared at him dumbfounded, mouth hanging open like an idiot.

Who was this man?

No one had cooked for him personally since he was very young. He was used to being given whatever was available and was not picky by any means. Making personal decisions was always difficult for him at times since most things were decided for him his entire life. He was getting better but he still struggled. Now he was put on the spot and Mr. Cobb was looking at him expectantly.

"Eggs?" he suggested tentatively since that was the first thing that popped in his mind.

Mr. Cobb's smile never ceased as he walked towards him, closing the gap between them. They were standing in the kitchen and Mr. Cobb placed his hands on a counter.

He squinted his eyes a little. "You sure? You don't sound absolutely positive," he teased.

Arthur found himself blushing a little. Shit, he had no idea what he wanted though he was hungry. Did he say the wrong thing?

He opened his mouth to back-peddle when Mr. Cobb was holding a hand out in a "stop" gesture, bringing him up short.

"I was kidding. I actually make a killer omelet," he winked, removing his jacket, rolling up his shirt sleeves like they were back in the office together, tackling dreamscape issues.

Arthur's blush increased, feeling stunned into place.

Mr. Cobb was moving around the kitchen with as much quiet authority as with everything else he did. He gathered all his materials and set to work. Arthur felt forced to stupidly watch him again, feeling awkward, in the way.

"Can you find us some plates and silverware?" he called gently as he heard him cracking some eggs.

He felt relief that he was actually doing something, was being put to use. He was never good at just standing around.

He searched the large kitchen until he found the plates and cutlery. He also felt victorious when he scrounged up some Coke. It looked like a private stash, maybe of the staff but he shrugged. They all ready broke about fifty rules why not pile on a few more? He found some glasses, hoping Mr. Cobb liked Coke and placed all the items on the counter.

Mr. Cobb was busy and the kitchen soon was full of delicious smells that made Arthur's mouth water. He didn't want to bother him and to make himself more useful he dragged two chairs into the kitchen and set "their table" which constituted them sitting by the counter, bar style.

He was fussing over their place settings when Mr. Cobb called to him asking him to bring the plates, saying it would be easier to serve it.

He came to his side quickly. He served him the hugest omelet he had ever seen. It looked fantastic and smelled wonderful. He served himself one as well, equally as large making him doubt that he indeed was "taking a casual midnight stroll". He had a feeling that Mr. Cobb was looking for him. Arthur led him back to their little eating area and Mr. Cobb made some sounds of appreciation and approval. Arthur offered him some Coke and Mr. Cobb nodded to it. Arthur felt immensely relieved that he approved of the drink.

Arthur savagely tore into his food, knowing it tasted good but not actually savoring it as he was famished. Mr. Cobb seemed to chuckle a little at the way ate with such gusto.

Egg, cheese, mushroom, onion and green pepper seemed to bypass his tongue and went directly to this throat and stomach. He finished realizing he ate much too fast. Mr. Cobb was only through half of his.

"Um, thank you," Arthur tried when he didn't want the silence to stretch on any longer, didn't want Mr. Cobb to think he was watching him eat which he was.

Mr. Cobb smiled. "I didn't want you to pass out before our big day tomorrow. You have a very important role."

Arthur felt that blush coming at his thoughtfulness, trying to will it down.

They made small talk while Mr. Cobb finished. The conversation he found was easy. Although deadly, Mr. Cobb was fairly down to earth and had a good sense about him.

Conversation turned to work and Arthur realized he knew little to nothing of this mysterious Pentagon consultant. How the hell do you even get a job like that?

"Why did you leave the military if I may ask?"

It was a topic he was avoiding himself. He was 21 and he had hopes of going to college though the idea frightened him. He wouldn't be bound to the regimented lifestyle, the routine anymore if he left. It may be like his middle school and high school days all over again.

Mr. Cobb seemed to ponder this deeply before he answered.

"A lot of reasons but mainly because my passions changed. I wanted more."

His answer struck a chord in Arthur. He too wanted more but he was never good at asking for something. If he wanted something he had to make it for himself.

"Dream sharing?"

Mr. Cobb nodded taking a drink from his glass.

"What is it like? I mean I heard you talk about it at length with the Sergeant and I but that's semantics, the brick and mortar of it all. What's your honest take of it?"

Mr. Cobb grinned hugely at him and gave him a knowing look, like he was seeing through him.

"I can't say what it's like because I think the experience is different for everyone. You'll take something away from it but it won't be the same thing as a member of your squad. But really in my opinion it's like nothing you've ever imagined or seen. It's the scariest and most intriguing thing imaginable. To me it makes ordinary life that much more boring and mundane, insignificant."

He leaned in closer to him and Arthur saw that familiar flash in his brilliant blue eyes, that spark of passion.

"We're on the cusp of something brilliant Corporal," he put his two fingers apart to show a very short distance. "We're that close."

Arthur was hanging on his every word now, feeling caught up in his passion.

"To what?" he breathed, barely blinking.

"Total control and manipulation of the technology. To take it where we want it to go."

Arthur nodded like he understood though the confusion must have been readable on his face.

Mr. Cobb back-peddled, apologizing for getting ahead of himself. He went into his story about how he started as a young solider much like Arthur and moved quickly up in the ranks. By his mid twenties he made Captain but he was feeling disinterested in military politics, feeling bored. He decided he needed a change in scenery and went to Oxford, wanting to go to school abroad, to get away. Arthur didn't press him for minute details but he got the sense he was running away from something in the States. Arthur understood the feeling.

He befriended his Professor, a brilliant scientist that was working on something that involved dreams. Dreams always fascinated Mr. Cobb and because of that and because they had become close friends he insisted he let his Professor, who he casually called "Miles", let him be his assistant of sorts. Miles didn't want him to at first because the assistant really was the one that acted as the guinea pig, the first test subject. Mr. Cobb was insistent though and together they developed somnicol, the first drug that helped connect people through the machine and eventually to the dreams.

"I was a lot like you," he shot him a knowing look. "I spent so much time pouring over materials, sometimes into the wee hours of the night, testing things, never leaving the laboratory until they were perfected," he laughed a little, his eyes looking far away , nostalgic. "I swear if it wasn't for Miles practically shoving me out of the lab I never would have left."

"I guess I see a lot of me in you. I know how it is to chase a dream. To want it so badly you can taste it," he eyed him.

Arthur squirmed a little under his direct gaze, letting his words seep in deeply. He didn't like him trying to figure him out but in a way he all ready had him pegged if not completely accurately all ready. Arthur wasn't chasing something, he was running away but it was almost the same thing. He nodded in understanding.

"Like most cheesy stories there also was a girl that helped get me out the lab, made me realize that there was more to life," he smiled a toothy grin.

"You got a girl?"

Arthur blinked at him a few times and had to repress a grin of his own. It pleased him but also irritated him in a way that most people didn't assume he was gay. He must not have that air about him or something. He just shook his head. Mr. Cobb would figure it out eventually, he was intelligent.

"I only ask because then you know what I mean when I say I would follow her anywhere. She's Miles' daughter and very into her father's research too. We worked together as a team."

He went into how Miles didn't want him to date his daughter at first. He was the big-shot, American cowboy, wanting to ride in on his white horse and save the day as all Americans are, he rolled his eyes at that. Arthur could see him brandishing a pistol wearing a cowboy hat, white horse kicking up clouds of dirt as he rode off into the sunset. He smothered his smile as Mr. Cobb continued with his story.

When they perfected the dream sharing technology, or at least enough that it could be tested with bigger trials the military caught wind, immediately taking over. Mr. Cobb wasn't pleased but understood at the same time. He didn't want to lose his baby, his brain child but he didn't want in with the military crowd directly again though he had offers up the wazoo. He had connections and government consulting seemed the natural next step so he could still keep his hands in what he loved.

That still left Miles and more importantly his girl.

He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "She's not exactly happy with me that I took this job as she's still at home in Paris. This was supposed to be a short term job but now it's almost been a year," he whistled. "Honestly I don't know why she stays with me," he smiled sloppily.

Arthur knew why. He was dashingly handsome without trying, totally brilliant, thoughtful, intuitive, a natural born leader and trustworthy though the last one had a big asterisk after it. He was still figuring that last trait out.

"What do you hope to accomplish by this…consulting? You say you want to be close to it all?" He really wasn't sure what he was trying to ask. Mr. Cobb's story seemed to have some holes in it.

Mr. Cobb grinned. "You're very smart. I do have ulterior motives as well."

Arthur found himself leaning in closer to the deadly consultant, hanging on his words again.

Mr. Cobb looked around like he was afraid maybe they were being watched.

"I asked you before if you thought you could trust me. Now I have to ask myself: Do I trust you?"

Mr. Cobb squinted at him and rested his face in his fist.

"You told me very openly may I add basically your whole life story. We also just broke into a mess hall after hours wherein we both can get our asses kicked for. I won't say anything about this if you don't. And that," he gave him a hard look, "You can go to the bank with. You can sure as fuck trust me."

They stared each other down for a few heartbeats but Mr. Cobb was the first to crack, he broke the tension by laughing deeply.

"I knew there was a reason why I liked you," he laughed again.

"The expression is: 'You can take that to the bank'," Mr. Cobb laughed again. They argued about it lightly, Arthur saying he was basically saying the same thing as him, Mr. Cobb insisting he indeed was not.

"In Boston we always said: 'You can go to the bank with that'," they laughed together, still gently teasing and that opened discussion on Arthur's back story a little but only a little as Mr. Cobb was curious about where he grew up. Arthur never talked about himself, ever. Only with Dr. Trollsund. Mr. Cobb seemed to pick up on it and backed off from asking too many questions.

There was a lull in their talk and parts of Mr. Cobb's story was still bothering him.

"You seem to kind of contradict yourself a little. You said you don't want in with the military yet you took a job that linked you directly with the military. You wanted to keep an eye on the technology so...oh..."

Mr. Cobb was eyeing him expectantly. Arthur felt like a light bulb had just gone off, he just got it.

"You're trying to stop it. What you're reporting to the Pentagon..."

"Don't get me wrong," Mr. Cobb interrupted. "I'm not going to sabotage your mission here, far from it but you're right. What I report to the Pentagon is a different matter," he shrugged a little, smiling sheepishly.

"But it's going to make us look bad. I mean not only the Sergeant and I but Fort Irwin," he was getting angry and he started to see things the way that the Sergeant was-that the government meddling in their affairs wasn't a good idea.

Mr. Cobb seemed to think about that.

"What you're trying to do will take such a long time," Arthur continued. "How do you hope to accomplish it?" He was acting like a child but the revelation about what the deadly consultant was actually doing was unnerving to him, it bothered him.

Mr. Cobb folded his hands in his lap looking contemplative and a little sad, a faraway look on his face again.

"Like I said I know how it is to chase a dream, to be so close," he closed his eyes. "You have to understand something about me Corporal. The dream sharing, the technology I helped develop is my life and nothing is going to stop me from trying to get it back. To get back what's rightfully mine and my colleagues'," he opened his eyes and regarded Arthur with true conviction, his steely blue eyes hard and demanding.

He definitely scared him a little.

"Well I guess there's nothing I can really do to stop you," and there wasn't and he wasn't happy about it. His CO's-the Sergeant and Lt. Alexander wouldn't believe him anyway, it was all too farfetched, they would think he was crazy. A government consultant with a deadly past, suicide ambition and totally on a mission to sabotage dream sharing for the military so that he and his colleagues could have total control over it again? He shook his head in disgust but then he saw the fire in Mr. Cobb's eyes and he knew he was justifying it. He wasn't a bad man just...Arthur wasn't sure.

_I know how it is to chase a dream..._

Arthur got up without a word and silently cleared their dishes. He set about cleaning them while he noticed Mr. Cobb put the chairs back and wiped down everything in what Arthur thought was to rid them of their fingerprints. He definitely had done this before...

He tried not to feel anything but he couldn't help feel disappointment. He had built Mr. Cobb up to be the "white knight", the hero. But now…

He dried all the dishes and silverware and put them away. He was thinking about just leaving when Mr. Cobb was intercepting him.

"Corporal. I told you I had ulterior motives. I wasn't completely honest with you before. I wasn't just taking a walk I was actually looking for you."

Arthur suppressed rolling his eyes. _Yeah, no shit..._

"I wanted to speak to you privately before the test run tomorrow. I'm glad we got a chance to talk though now I think your opinion of me is...well, skewed."

Arthur shook his head, grimacing.

"I don't think there's anything to really talk about. I'm still going through with it tomorrow but it's not for you. It's for me, for the Sergeant, and for all the other privates that volunteered to be guinea pigs. I wanted to experience this for myself if only just once," he shot him a hard look.

Mr. Cobb nodded.

"What if I told you it didn't have to be 'just once'?"

Arthur was getting angrier by the minute.

"I'm not interested in what you're offering," he clipped.

Mr. Cobb nodded thoughtfully looking a little hurt.

"Corporal, let me be blunt with you. My ulterior motives I was talking about...I'm on a mission. I'm looking for people..."

"And again I'm not interested," he interrupted, brushing past him; he had enough of this folly. Of him making him food, telling stories, filling his head with fanciful notions and illusions, making him believe there was more to life.

"You came highly recommended," he heard him say as Arthur slipped through the door, pretending he didn't hear a word. That didn't stop his heart from pounding, his hands from shaking , his mind from reeling and wishing he was dead.

* * *

Though his mind would not shut off he did end up getting some sleep.

The Sergeant was much too loud and invading his personal space as they prepped their materials, it was way too early to be dealing with that and it took all his willpower not to snap at him.

He seemed to pick up on his mood however and he was uncharacteristically silent after a time.

Arthur was nervous and it was for stupid reasons.

He didn't want to face Mr. Cobb ever again. He was very glad that he would be presumably leaving Fort Irwin soon.

They were set up in a makeshift auditorium. There were twenty five of them that were going under, regrettably Mr. Cobb included. He tried not to think about what Mr. Cobb would say to the higher ups, the Pentagon. Would it all be lies?

He was totally lost in thought, partially feeling numb from lack of sleep as he helped prep the machine.

"Everything all right?" the Sergeant was much too close again and his concerned tone grated his already frayed nerves.

"Yeah, fine," he snapped, not meeting his eyes.

They were going to have a large audience, military officers, other higher ups and doctors present just in case.

A lot was riding on this but it didn't matter...

He saw Mr. Cobb entering, all smiles per usual.

It didn't matter because of him.

Arthur could fail this horribly and it wouldn't even matter...

_"I know how it is to chase a dream..."_

_"You came highly recommended."_

He couldn't look at him as he finished prepping the device. Mr. Cobb was talking to the Sergeant and he took that opportunity to slip away. They still had a little time before everyone got there.

He fished a cigarette out with shaky hands. He put it in his tight, cracked lips and couldn't get the damn thing to light, the whole world conspiring against him.

A lighter was in front of his face suddenly, making him jump a little. He was usually so good at picking up on when people were approaching.

"Thanks," he mumbled as he lit it and handed the silver lighter back to the Sergeant. They smoked in silence for a while, reminding him of when they first met.

"You're going to do fine."

"It doesn't matter if I do," he whispered.

"What?" the Sergeant regarded him curiously.

"Never mind," he threw his half smoked cigarette to the ground in defeat, ready to face the inevitable, whatever that was. He tried hard not to notice the hurt that crossed the Sergeant's eyes. He was extending the olive branch but Arthur wasn't really having it right at that moment. There was too much to think about, too much going on.

He ignored him and Mr. Cobb the best he could but they were the ones that were presenting the training exercise.

The Sergeant had prepared something. He spoke well, crediting Arthur, speaking highly of his work which again he knew was part of the olive branch extension. They would talk later possibly if they all survived this.

* * *

They had brought in cots and Arthur tried to slow down his breathing and heart rate as he laid waiting for the IV prep.

He wasn't expecting the Sergeant to prep it for him.

"Security's going to run you down hard," he had a laugh in his voice, a smug smirk on his face.

"And I will lead them on a merry chase." They both chuckled a bit at that, the Sergeant looking mildly impressed. Arthur wasn't going to lose. He was going to lead his squad to victory if it killed him. He wasn't going to admit defeat to the Sergeant or the impossible blond, deadly consultant.

He realized he was doing it for him even if it wasn't going to matter; it was the principle of the thing. The gentle ribbing from the Sergeant just fueled him, got him pumped and he smiled weakly at him as if the Sergeant would understand his thanks. He turned and left before he caught his drift. He was replaced by the person he was truly avoiding.

Mr. Cobb placed a hand on his shoulder gently to the shock of Arthur.

"Good luck, Corporal."

_Asshole._

His touch threw him off his game.

Things didn't start off well for his squad and him as Arthur, even in the dream, felt that lingering touch on his shoulder.

Bombs exploded and buildings crumbled around them as they were totally caught in the fray. They were in cramped city streets with tons of blind areas and other little nooks and crannies where what Mr. Cobb called "projections" or enemies were waiting for them.

They were to secure the perimeter and rescue the hostages. Sergeant Eames and his team also had nasty surprises in store for his squad-all in the name of a realistic scenario.

It took a while but he was able to lead his squad more efficiently after he caught a fucking grip. It wasn't easy with constant hail of bullets raining down on them, tanks whining, and men shouting.

His men found and rescued the hostages, casualties fewer then he thought.

That was until the Coup de grâce: the Sergeant and his team were posing as foreign military allies, as late "back up support." His squad knew that backup wasn't needed anymore as they had secured the perimeter but they trusted the Sergeant. His squad really had no idea what to expect as they didn't this whole time but Arthur had to feel a little sorry for them as Sergeant Eames and his men started firing at them, showing no mercy. It was supposed to test how his men reacted to the situation, dealt with treachery, betrayal and deceit. It struck a little close to home for Arthur and he imagined Mr. Cobb as he fired at the Sergeant's men. Unfortunately more than he liked of Arthur's men were killed. The Sergeant was ruthless, liking it a little too much. They both were allowed to fire on each other. As it being realistic either of them could die in this exercise. Arthur wanted the Sergeant to die just a little too much.

It took a while but his men persevered, over taking them and the Sergeant was forced to retreat.

They secured the perimeter once more, the little of them that were left and were able to deliver the hostages to safety.

They had set the timer on the dreaming machine for longer than they knew it would take to finish the exercise, just in case. They didn't want the time to run out before they had finished.

Arthur had no idea how much time was left. He found himself sitting on the hood of a broken down, abandoned car close by his squad, feeling like he could breath again in God knows how long. He took the time to really absorb his surroundings, the dream. The broken, gray sky, the swirling dust of the dirt road, bare trees reaching to the sky. It felt so real and Mr. Cobb's words about it being scary but intriguing came back to him.

He was hooked.

* * *

Almost everyone immediately got sick when they woke including Arthur. No one was expecting that, not even the deadly consultant who looked a little green, like he was going to toss his cookies at any moment. He wanted to blame the Sergeant or Mr. Cobb for the shoddy drugs but both looked genuinely confused and shocked.

Despite that the higher ups seemed pleased with the progress, the Sergeant reassuring them that a different version or dosage of the somnicol would be tweaked or developed so that sickness wouldn't happen again.

After everyone was checked out by the medical staff Arthur tried to slink away but that proved impossible as everybody wanted to congratulate and talk to him. He also had to relay his experiences to officers and would also need to submit reports. He could barely concentrate on any of it. He only could think about when he could get back into the dream again.

During a break in the action, no one had advanced on him he caught the Sergeant's gaze. The Brit gave him a genuine smile and a wink, pure adoration on his face. Arthur had to turn his face away to hide his smile and blush.

They were filing out, breaking for lunch. Arthur thought he finally was in the clear. He was overly exhausted and wanted to eat and possibly slip away to catch 40 winks, have some time for himself. The universe had other plans. Mr. Cobb was waiting outside for him, leaning up against the side of the building and motioning with his head for him to come over.

He ignored him. He was the last person he wanted to talk to. Mr. Cobb jogged up to meet him.

"Corporal, I just wanted to congratulate you…"

"Save it," he shot.

He was walking briskly not caring if the deadly consultant could keep up, hoping he would lose him. Unfortunately the blond bastard was a little taller than him and had a long stride so he kept up well.

"Corporal if you can just give me a minute of your time and then I promise you I will leave you alone."

Arthur gritted his teeth, fury ready to explode at any minute. He hadn't had a good meltdown in a long time and the past few days have been fucking stressful for him, he could totally see himself unleashing on Mr. Cobb.

Arthur stopped abruptly, his hands balled into his fists. If this asshole said one more thing to piss him off he was going to unload, he didn't care about the consequences because hell, it didn't matter what he said anyway, Mr. Cobb was still going to tell the Pentagon that the training exercise was a failure.

"Arthur…"

At the use of his first name some of that fury left his system. He felt shocked. He didn't think Mr. Cobb even knew his first name.

"I know your father, we worked together. He's the one that recommended you."


	6. I Think I Lost Myself Again

I Think I Lost Myself Again

"What?" his vocal chords barely working.

He could only stare at him as the wind rustled his light hair, how he had to squint slightly from the sun in his eyes, face ashen, hands buried deep in his pockets. He licked his dry lips and Arthur could tell he was tired. They all were.

Arthur knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep any time soon.

Mr. Cobb let him absorb it, almost stepping back from him like he was a shrink, like some all knowing creature.

_Impossible,_ he wanted to shout at him.

He hadn't heard from his father in over ten years.

And he was falling. Falling down a deep, dark well.

_You did this_, the last thing he ever said to him, his solid presence leaving his side as he was forced to watch his mother being buried into the ground alone, snow all around.

To anyone passing by the two of them they must have looked rather odd. Mr. Cobb calmly squinting in the afternoon sun, scuffing his big shoe in the dirt and Arthur with his chest heaving, his eyes closing before he knew what was happening, tears threatening to spill at any moment.

_"I know how it is to chase a dream..."_

His desire, maybe his only one true dream was for his father to notice him again. But it was an unspoken dream. He didn't think it counted.

No, not just notice…

He felt his heart clench around the unspoken thought and he felt definite moisture at his eyes. He opened them and blinked away forming tears.

He was a soldier, a Corporal, leader of men, a man devoted to his country and duty. He wasn't allowed to cry, to feel this.

Mr. Cobb was searching his eyes expectantly now, having waited patiently for him to fucking say something, anything.

He didn't have any words.

He thought he heard Mr. Cobb say he would give him some time. God, Arthur must have looked like a desperate child. An abandoned toddler at a grocery store-wide eyed, shock ridden, shaking, not breathing, on the cusp of a meltdown.

He saw him turn and go, hands still deep in his pockets, his head slightly bowed like he was paying respects at a funeral.

What the hell was he supposed to do with this information?

His mind disconnected, feeling faintly familiar as he was running, motherfucking running to the bank of public phones, legs and lungs working hard, blowing past shocked, aghast faces.

He didn't hear or think anything as his hands fumbled with the receiver, desperately punching in numbers with numb fingers too quickly, them being wrong the first twelve times of course having to start over feebly. He made himself stop and take a slow breath and he finally got the number right the thirteenth time.

He picked up on the second ring. Arthur's heart fluttered.

"Arthur?"

And his eyes did leak then in the almost complete privacy of the phone banks as most were at the mess hall having lunch.

He gave himself this. This one small break, one small crack in the rules and other things he had strapped to himself.

He sniffled, chest still heaving, breath shuddering.

He still didn't have any words. To speak it would make it too real.

"Arthur what happened?"

He let his calm, soothing voice envelop him.

"Just talk to me…tell me something, anything…"He didn't want to think, slow tears falling down his face.

Dr. Trollsund seemed apprehensive, concern evident in his pause.

And he told him a story. What it was Arthur still to this day couldn't remember. Something mundane and trite he supposed.

But it helped. Listening to him relay some day to day activities, upcoming plans and finally…

"When can I expect you Arthur? You said you would be getting leave soon?"

Nothing like bad news to snap you out of pervious bad news.

It sobered him up but only slightly to the point that he wasn't sniveling into his sleeve anymore.

"I…I got pulled into an important assignment. I won't be able to take a leave for a while. Maybe a couple more months?" He really had no clue. It was just one more impossible thing he didn't want to think about. With the bad reactions to the somnicol he figured more trials and test runs were in his future. The original couple month plan was definitely going to be extended, he just knew it.

Dr. Trollsund breathed out a shaky sigh.

"I think you need to tell them it's an emergency of sorts. Surely they would grant you leave for something like that?"

At the cost of creditability sure he could. Hell, it could cost him his military career if they caught wind of his OCD and…the "other thing".

Maybe he wanted that to happen though?

He thought again about Mr. Cobb's words about his father and shuddered. He didn't know what his father wanted him to do if anything except maybe die.

"Arthur, are you still there?'

"I can't…I just can't. The assignment is too important, too detailed. I'm too involved now. They need me…" He needed the dreams too but he wasn't admitting that yet.

"Arthur, you would be no good to them like this."

And he broke down.

Because he was right and life was hard, much too hard, too many things pressing down on him making him feel as flat as a sheet of paper to be caught up in the wind much like the feather the Sergeant gave him, blowing aimlessly in the breeze.

Dr. Trollsund was talking to him but it was hard to hear him through the sobs, hard to concentrate through his leaky vision.

"If there's an onsite psychologist there I think you need to try to see them in the time being or if you have anyone you can confide it that would be good too."

He knew it was confidential but something inside his gut told him that someone would see him enter "that building" and again there went his creditability. He didn't have anyone to talk to about it.

Is this was his life was reduced to? Running from doctor to doctor, barely surviving on scraps of information about his father?

"What brought this all on?"

His voice was so painstakingly gentle, warm, coaxing.

"My…my father," he stammered, foreign words thick on his tongue.

He felt his hesitance, heard his pause.

"Did he contact you?" There was slight shock and bitterness in the doctor's voice and Arthur had to bite his tongue from screaming out.

"It's so complicated I don't even know everything." Oh, and he was on the edge now, arms wind-milling, feet sliding, he was a breath away from losing his shit completely.

"You know what? It doesn't even matter. It only matters how it's affecting you and I don't like it, Arthur. He left you when you really needed him. He shut you out. He refused all invitations to your therapy sessions which would have helped you too. He doesn't have any right to come reeling his ugly head now. You need to make a decision and I implore you to think about it before you do." His slight harshness kept him from slipping over the edge, tugging him back to solid ground. He felt himself hanging on his words, almost holding his breath.

"What decision?"

"Ignore it or act on it."

Arthur was slightly stunned at the simplicity but angered by it at the same time.

"What?" it came out a little harsher than he liked.

"You need to ask yourself if ignoring it or acting on it would help you. Personally I think ignoring it would be better as you have a lot on your plate."

If his father recommended him for something…there was no way he could ignore it. It was the first time in ten years he felt he was even recognized by him.

"Little steps, Arthur. Tackle one thing at a time. What are the most pressing things and just cut away the rest. Let them wait and come back to them when you're ready."

God, he loved this man.

He was nodding and he had finally, thankfully stopped crying.

"Don't let these things stress you as it will just get worse for your OCD. You really need to start looking out for your best interests."

He wanted to hang up, grab his things and jump on the next plane to come meet him. That's all he wanted. He closed his eyes taking a slow, shaky breath.

_"I know how it is to chase a dream..."_

But he wasn't chasing, he was running, always running.

What was his dream?

He knew what he had to do now.

He couldn't just run away he had to take one thing at a time.

But what was his dream?

"Thank you," he stammered out. "I have to go now." They would notice his absence. All eyes were on him as of late. It was going to be like that for a while, no end in sight.

Dr. Trollsund protested but conceded eventually after Arthur kept insisting he was better and would see an onsite doctor, talk to someone. After their hurried goodbyes Arthur tried to make himself as presentable as he could and jogged back to the mess hall.

It was crowded and he tried to slip in unnoticed. Totally not happening.

He was greeted with applause by some officers he didn't even know. To say he felt embarrassment would be an understatement.

He ignored it the best he could as he pathetically got his food. He was glad he didn't have to think as things were piled on his tray for him. But then people were intercepting him, talking to him, congratulating him, wanting his attention. It was time to perform. To slap on smiles, fake enthusiasm, nod at the right times, speak when asked questions.

Why were they always incessantly talking?

The mess hall was packed though he did spy a familiar British face, noticed him smiling and flagging him down. He was half considering sitting with him and his English pose but then he was pulled away and he found himself sitting with his squad.

The non stop talking and questioning continued. His head was pounding and the need to escape crawling all over him. The Sergeant's calm grayish eyes met his impossibly through the throngs of people.

He took in those eyes and knew definitely he could not run away just yet.

Someday he would know what his dream was.

* * *

The rest of the day was a blur of activity.

He couldn't even pee without some half excited jackass coming up to him asking him fumbled questions which he really wasn't supposed to talk about.

Mr. Cobb was nowhere to be found. Arthur had half insane thoughts that maybe he fled Fort Irwin, back to the Pentagon with lies spewing out of his lips.

_Tackle one thing at a time. Cut away the rest._

He would hunt for him but he had a gut feeling that Mr. Cobb would come looking for him first. It always seemed like he was.

After the impossibly long day and he thought he finally could have some time alone to think he again was pulled into something.

"We're going out to celebrate," a familiar accented voice was musing behind him.

Arthur yawned as if to prove a point. "I'm not in the least bit interested." He had just gotten out of another meeting and he was back in the Sergeant's office going through some papers. He thought he was alone.

The Sergeant had other plans it seemed. He sat on the corner of Arthur's desk and took the papers he was looking at out of his hands.

Arthur met his eyes slowly not in the least bit amused.

"Corporal you've been working non-stop all day. 'Bout time we called it a night don't you think?"

"I just had one more thing…," Arthur reached for the papers but the Sergeant pulled them away out of his reach.

"That can wait until tomorrow," the Sergeant finished for him, smiling.

Arthur glared at him but the Sergeant just dangled his legs off his desk and smirked.

"I could order you to go you know."

Arthur rolled his eyes deeply.

"You certainly cannot do that and you know it."

The Sergeant shrugged.

"Are you worried you'll have fun?"

_No, I'm worried my effing head will explode from all this pressure and that I may kill you._

Arthur got up abruptly not wanting this to turn into the Sergeant's lame attempt at flirting or putting his arm around him or something. He was all ready too worn down for something like that to happen.

He really just wanted to go to bed but he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep anyway. The Sergeant wasn't going to let up; his powers at relentlessness were unnerving so he succumbed to going.

"I need to find Mr. Cobb first and then yes I will go. But only one drink." The finding Mr. Cobb part felt like a lie. For some reason it seemed you didn't find Mr. Cobb unless he wanted to be found. He found you.

The Sergeant shot him a hard look still seated on the corner of the desk, leg swinging back and forth. Arthur knew that look.

The Sergeant shrugged again looking a little disgusted.

"We'll wait for you, our little shining star performer," he winked.

Arthur remembered, years down the road, that this was technically the first endearment Eames had ever used on him.

Arthur was grabbing his coat and hat. He shot him a look over his shoulder.

"Oh no, don't wait up. I'll meet you there." Mr. Cobb and him had A LOT of things to go over. That was if he could find him. He left before he could give the Sergeant a chance to argue.

* * *

Though California was nothing like his native New Hampshire haunts the October air was still a little chilly.

He remembered always loving fall as a child.

_He remembered dead leaves blowing aimlessly in the brisk New England wind, burning leaves and other smells of autumn in his nose…his father holding him with strong arms as he worked the monkey bars, both of them smiling and laughing._

God, that's all he had to remember him by. His one good memory.

He was walking back to his barracks to kill a little time, try to clear his head when Mr. Cobb came clear out of thin air and was intercepting him like he materialized out of pure nothing. He was very glad no one was around because he jumped and nearly cried out. And he called himself a trained solider…

If Mr. Cobb noticed Arthur's immature reaction he showed no signs. He looked hesitant; wary like he remembered how Arthur reacted the first time he approached him.

"Is this a good time?"

Once his heart rate had slowed down to somewhat normal levels he tried: "As good as any."

They walked together in silence until they came upon a little common area before one of the training fields. Both men took a seat on the stone bench.

Arthur's heart hadn't really slowed since Mr. Cobb came jumping out of the dark. It was pumping with nervousness and anxiousness; each beat of his heart throbbed in his chest painfully.

Mr. Cobb still looked ashy and haggard. His usual very clean cut demeanor seemed a little off, his clothes rumpled and hair a little messy. He seemed calm but underneath that seemed a little ripple of anxiousness himself.

"What do you want to know?" he opened, looking down at his hands that were in his lap.

Arthur wasn't really expecting an opener like that. Maybe it was because of how he reacted to the news the first time.

"Everything."

Mr. Cobb chuckled lightly and Arthur didn't like it. It sounded like a pity laugh like he was only talking to Arthur to amuse him, get him off his back.

"I thought you would say something like that," he shot him a look and there was no pity or amusement there, just calm and collected, observing.

A million questions came to Arthur's mind, he was opening his mouth to speak but Mr. Cobb was putting a hand up to stop him.

"We met when we were in Iraq in 1996," Mr. Cobb laughed a little. "I should rephrase that we met in a shitty hospital after we both got injured when we were in Iraq in 1996. Do you know about Operation Desert Strike?" Arthur nodded faintly. He knew a little about it.

"Well anyway we were called over there during that time."

Arthur felt his eyes widening. Any information about his father was news to him. To think he was off fighting wars and getting injured blew his mind. His mouth went dry and he found himself leaning towards the deadly consultant.

"We both took pretty nasty shots. Mine in the shoulder and his in the leg. We actually joked about that for some reason."

"That's how it all started, a joke. Since we were in beds next to each other and we didn't have many visitors' we talked and joked to pass the time," Mr. Cobb knotted his hands together in his lap and his eyes seemed glassy and far away.

The moon revealed itself from behind the clouds and Arthur's eyes instinctively were drawn to it out of habit. It was only a half moon and the realization stilled Arthur even though it was still 512 days until the next black moon.

Mr. Cobb started speaking again and Arthur trained his attention back to the other man.

"The joking and talking turned to commiserating at one point. I'm not exactly sure how. I guess we were both feeling the same things-unspoken loneliness, absolute boredom, going out of our minds just laying there," Mr. Cobb's brilliant calm eyes focused on Arthur's and Arthur didn't like that look, where this story was going. It felt like he was dodging a minefield and Mr. Cobb's words were the mines. He was hopelessly tripping over them and feeling like they were exploding right in his face.

"He was the first person I confessed to that I wasn't happy with being in the military, that I wanted out, that I wanted more. Maybe being in that hospital woke me up. I'm not sure. Your father," Mr. Cobb searched his eyes, maybe for consent, to make sure he should continue. Arthur swallowed hugely feeling the lump there and feeling he didn't want to know but had to know at the same time. He nodded at him.

"Your father confessed things too since we were in a dismal, confessing mood one night. He said he 'lost his son' but the way he said 'lost' I knew he didn't mean that he died."

Arthur's body froze. He assumed his father never thought or spoke of him. Arthur wanted to interject, ask him a million questions. Did he look sad? Did he say he missed him?

Mr. Cobb interjected again before he got the chance.

"He honestly didn't speak of you much so I don't have much to tell you, I'm sorry."

Arthur felt surprisingly dejected but also a little relieved for some reason at the knowledge.

"I left the military almost immediately after I recovered from the injury and thus began me going off to college and then the government. But you already know all that."

Arthur nodded.

"Your father and I still kept in contact and by the time I finished school and the dream sharing technology was taken over by the military I knew I needed to reach out to him."

Arthur wondered faintly if Mr. Cobb prided himself on justifying things or if that was just his nature. The more he talked to him he decided it was the later.

He presumably was only keeping in contact with his father for his own selfish purposes, to be that much closer to his brain child, to have someone on the inside.

"You're father didn't know what business I was into when I was at Oxford though I knew his base stationed over on the east coast never got the dream sharing technology. Nevertheless we got to talking and I mentioned, more or less to myself, that I was on a mission to build a team for a new project when pretty much out of the blue he mentions you and how you would be good for it."

Arthur watched Mr. Cobb quietly thinking there was more to the story. He waited, somewhat patiently for him to continue but then Mr. Cobb caught his gaze and Arthur knew he was done with his little story.

That was it? It was that easy? Arthur got the distinct impression that there was more to it and again Mr. Cobb had holes in his story but despite that something still gripped Arthur's heart. It was like a vice grip. He felt dizzy. Knowing his father may have talked about him, especially in a positive way made him feel strange but marvelous at the same time.

"What exactly did he say?" he found himself asking, voice too desperate and small sounding.

Mr. Cobb looked a bit bewildered.

"I can't recall his exact words since it was almost two years ago, the last time I talked to him, but he said you were in the military. He told me where you were stationed."

Mr. Cobb took a deep breath and looked out at the training field, the night sky. Arthur got the sense that he wanted to say more so he fidgeted in his seat impatiently, waiting for him to collect his thoughts.

Mr. Cobb met his eyes after a moment and it was a different look, something vulnerable and open, something unlike he had ever worn on his face before, a new expression.

"I think he wanted me to look out for you."

Arthur's head swam at his words and he felt very lightheaded like someone hit him over the head.

"What?" he barely whispered out.

Arthur vaguely thought it could be a lie. Mr. Cobb had lied to him before.

"Your father trusted me."

"But he didn't even know what you were really doing! For all he knew you could have been planning a suicide mission. He would just blindly trust you? Trust this 'mission' and then somehow recommend me?"

Mr. Cobb shook his head opening his mouth to speak but Arthur didn't want to hear it.

He got up abruptly to the surprise of Mr. Cobb.

"Arthur wait…"he put out a hand.

"It's Corporal or Corporal Marek. You may 'know my father' but you sure as hell don't know me and you're not being completely honest with me."

His anxiousness and nerves were dissolved into liquid anger.

Mr. Cobb nodded a little in defeat and clasped his hands together between his legs.

"I owed him a favor," he seemed to be speaking to the wind itself it was so faint.

Arthur stood stupefied. He took a step towards him, not ready to sit with him again but willing to listen.

Mr. Cobb met his eyes and he seemed remorseful.

"When I said we met in the hospital that was partially true. I just didn't explain how or why. Your father saved my life and in the process he got a bullet in the leg. We were Captains in different companies, different squads. We were providing backup to his squad and upon me approaching him for the first time some locals came clear out of nowhere, shooting. If it wasn't for your father I would have got shot clear in the face. He pushed me out of the way and it hit my shoulder instead. Another local got him in the leg."

Arthur was sitting again, leaning towards him transfixed. His father a "war hero" saving people's lives? Having people owe him favors?

"That's why I wanted out and it wasn't just the close call. I had a couple of those before. I was just tired of relying on people. I thought it was a wakeup call, a sign that I should do something else. I guess almost dying does that to you. I wanted to make my own way, make my own rules."

Arthur thought that was probably the most truthful sounding thing he had said yet.

"I didn't know how to repay him…I mean he saved my life Ar...I mean Corporal. How do you repay someone for that?"

Arthur had no idea. He was in the business of taking lives instead of saving them it seemed.

He tried not to think about his mother's body floating face down in the murky, red pool. Arms outstretched and her favorite red dress billowing around bloated alabaster skin.

He physically shuddered and Mr. Cobb shot him a concerned look. Arthur shook his head and motioned for him to continue.

He didn't want to think about death. He rather hear about Mr. Cobb's story pertaining to life.

"So I kept in contact with him because after someone saves your life you feel indebted and I wanted to keep tabs on him, know that he was ok."

Arthur got a sinking feeling he knew where this was going.

"When I mentioned the mission and he recommended you with no questions asked I didn't want to ask questions but I knew. I knew deep down that he wanted me to do this for him as payback. That I was finally being called into action."

"I don't know what you're relationship with him is and it's really none of my business but I cannot fail him," he regarded Arthur with those passionate, burning eyes. The same eyes that spoke of dream sharing and chasing dreams. Eyes of true conviction.

Arthur could only stare back at him stupidly, barely blinking.

"I came here for two reasons. To gain dream sharing back and to take you back with me. I'm leaving you with no choice, Corporal. I'm fulfilling a debt and a wish to your father to take you under my wing," he stared him down, his brilliant blue eyes almost challenging him to say differently.

Arthur swallowed, his mouth feeling impossibly dry and heavy.

They stared at each other for a while. Arthur could barely think he felt so bombarded with new, impossible information.

"And what if I don't?" But he did and why he did he wasn't sure. He didn't trust Mr. Cobb completely. He was either a very convincing liar, one of the best or this "story" was real but just too unbelievable to be true. And maybe it was both? Mr. Cobb already proved to be a man so fueled by his own selfish desires that he would stop at nothing to get what he wants. But why Arthur?

Arthur's head swam again and he was thinking that he would need a drink after all this.

Mr. Cobb flashed him a little devilish smile, revealing white, even teeth. He didn't like that smile.

"You will. You've already had a little taste of what dream sharing is and I could tell by that look in your eye after this first trial run that you're hungry for more. What I can show you will really blow your mind. Like I told you before we haven't tapped into its full potential, barely scratched the surface…that and your father wants you to come with me." Again his steely, blue eyes searched him, challenged him.

Arthur winced at the last statement knowing deep down that he couldn't lie to himself. If his father wanted him to go with Mr. Cobb then he was going to go if it was only to gain a little recognition and acknowledgment from his father.

He found himself hanging his head a little, shoulders slumped, feeling slightly defeated and also angry at Mr. Cobb for hitting the "father" button, almost guilting him into conceding.

Could he really trust him?

Mr. Cobb seemed to pick up on his body language and smiled a little like he knew he had won.

They sat in silence again for a while, both men watching the night sky.

He observed the man sitting next to him but feeling he was 100 miles away.

He thought back to when he first met him and thinking he was just a tourist on their mission, someone to follow them around. Now Arthur was going to be the tourist and knew he would be following this man around for Lord knew how long.

Was it punishment for his sins?

He looked up at the moon, it rolling behind a cloud once more, obscuring itself.

He thought it probably was.

* * *

The two men parted ways shortly after that. Mr. Cobb telling him they would talk more at length about "the details" at a later time. He seemed to be in no great rush, that the idea that Arthur coming with him was as easy as breathing, barely an afterthought like he had planned this from the very start and in all honesty he had. For how long Arthur almost didn't want to know. He also didn't want to know how much research he had done on him. If he knew about his mother…

He pushed all those thoughts out of his mind and failed horribly at trying not to think about anything.

_Tackle one thing at a time. Cut away the rest._

Right now he needed a drink, needed to escape after what felt like the longest day of his life. He couldn't take one more serious thing or he felt he would collapse.

The Sergeant and his men indeed did not wait up for him thankfully. He slipped into the bar unnoticed and lingered towards the entrance taking pleasure in watching the Sergeant with his one leg on a bench, leaning in towards the table tell what he thought was probably a tasteless, racist joke. His subordinates and him were pink in the face, whooping it up. Sergeant Eames looked far too amused and smug with himself.

Arthur found himself smiling a little at the ridiculousness of it and of course that's when the Sergeant caught his gaze, clearly feeling someone's eyes on him. His face going from surprised to pleased in a flash. He deposited his glass on the table quickly, saying something to his subordinated and came right over.

He was all smiles.

"Didn't think you were coming, our little star," he winked.

Arthur found himself shrugging. "Long day." Like that was supposed to explain everything.

The Sergeant nodded politely.

"You can come over. We don't bite."

Arthur smirked.

"No, you just shoot like shit. Are you guys really that bad or just in a dream?"

Sergeant Eames laughed, the pink in his face spreading. He seemed a little taken aback.

He shrugged. "Both I'm afraid. But we almost had you, our shining performer."

They were walking to the bar. Arthur couldn't stop grinning. Competitiveness and banter happened just too easily between them. In some ways Arthur could categorize it as almost fun.

He was ordering scotch for him before Arthur got a chance to flag the bartender down. He always had that uncanny ability to get people's attention very quickly. It was unnerving really.

He turned to him after he ordered

"I didn't want…"

"I don't bloody care what you want," a laugh in his voice, his eyes shining.

Arthur rolled his eyes deeply.

"I never doubted that from the second I met you."

The scotch was very good. He didn't know why the Sergeant insisted on getting him top shelf but didn't feel like complaining.

He needed this, a distraction. Even if it was with another person he didn't fully trust and didn't trust his own feelings around.

For some reason they both were perched at the bar. The Sergeant's pose momentarily forgotten.

They drank in silence for a while. Arthur listened to the jukebox, the din of the crowded bar, the bartender talking to some private.

"Why have you been avoiding me all day?"

Arthur snapped his head to the Sergeant's direction.

He was searching his eyes deeply. Although he didn't possess the same powerful gaze as Mr. Cobb his bluish gray eyes did seem like magnets, drawing him in ever deeper.

Arthur felt slightly rattled by the blunt, out of the blue question though he should have expected it coming from him.

"I haven't been avoiding you. If you haven't noticed I was extremely busy…"

"Getting pats on the back, right," he interrupted, focused on his glass.

It was the Sergeant's turn to roll his eyes.

"If you hadn't noticed, however 'busy' you were, I was trying to get back in your good graces, you twat," he focused his grayish blue eyes on him once again, a ghost of a smile on his full lips.

Arthur blinked at him, feeling some heat flood his cheeks.

"You were in my good graces?" He figured it was easier trying to play the whole thing off as a joke. He really was in no mood to try to delve into something deeper. If there was anything deeper.

The Sergeant laughed. "I suppose I wasn't," he eyed him.

Arthur knew that this wasn't particularly easy for him, to practically apologize, however half assed and round about as it was. He did recognize he was…trying… whatever that meant.

He still didn't know if he totally forgave him for the white feather and for making him feel stupid for not remembering their night together. His cheeks burned a little more at that thought. He sure felt like he was getting his wish: feeling distracted.

He mellowed out after his second glass of scotch, the Sergeant taking great pleasure in telling him he was going past his "one drink" remark from earlier.

The conversation flowed easily. They talked about the training exercise. He didn't come out and say it but Arthur could pick up on that the Sergeant was impressed by his performance and ability to beat him.

By the time he was on his third glass conversation was steered in other directions. They talked military, their safe topic. The Sergeant tried to ask him personal questions after a time but Arthur wasn't biting. He really didn't want to think or talk about himself at all.

Thankfully he got an out- the British privates walked up to the Sergeant then calling him a "wanker" for forgetting about them, elbowing him, ribbing him, shooting Arthur wary, suggestive looks and finally bid him farewell.

Arthur was feeling really good by that time and was somehow bet into drinking a fourth glass. Not to be outdone he took the challenge. He really did not want nor need a repeat performance of their first night together but he loved how he was forgetting.

"Did you ever have a dream that you thought was so real that even after you woke up you still felt like you were in it?"

Their conversation was back to dreaming. Arthur knew he would be discussing that a lot in his near future.

Arthur eyed him. The Sergeant was definitely approaching three sheets to the wind though the man could hold his alcohol and was probably one of the best he knew at hiding it.

Arthur thought about his mother's dead, dark eyes, her crumpled body as it moved aimlessly around their rain flooded pool, her body being lowered into the ground with snow falling all around, his father leaving his side never to return, Mr. Henry whispering to another young boy, touching his shoulder lightly, whispering promises, Arthur knowing he wasn't special.

He didn't need to have dreams to feel like he was still living in them. They were memories but to him they felt the same.

"No," he told him truthfully. He usually only dreamed of things that already happened. How unoriginal.

The Sergeant nodded a little. Arthur saw him touching something in his pocket of his pants absentmindedly.

"It's an odd feeling, like you're moving between two worlds. I felt a little like that after we came back from the training exercise." His eyes were faraway. It felt like he was talking about something else from a long time ago.

"We'll get used to it." Arthur really had no idea what he was talking about. He thought his confidence may help the Sergeant if that's what he was looking for.

They were acting like old army buddies again as they were leaving, Arthur ridiculously sloppy with drink. He knew the Sergeant had more than him but seemed to be holding his own better.

Arthur stumbled on the last step by the front door sending him almost flying. The Sergeant made a move to catch him but Arthur batted him away stupidly and he ended up falling almost flat on his face.

When the Sergeant tried to help him up Arthur again batted his hands away before he could really touch him.

"I don't need your help," he groaned, body a wreck, blood in his mouth.

Sergeant Eames looked down at him giving him a curious, almost wary look.

Arthur thought back to Dr. Trollsund's words about if he had anyone to talk to. He stared up at the Sergeant and shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts.

He got himself up after what felt like a lifetime, not nearly in as much pain as he should be but knowing he would feel it tomorrow.

The Sergeant was laughing at him.

"You really hate people helping you don't you?" he had an unlit cigarette dangling out of his smiling mouth and was fishing his pack out of his pocket.

Arthur felt dizzy after the fall and blamed that for not knowing the Sergeant was right next to him until he was.

He was putting a cigarette in Arthur's mouth, still smiling and lighting it for him like he knew he wanted one (because he did), like they were lovers. Arthur's cheeks flushed as he desperately tried to inhale the British cigarette, the odd yet familiar taste filling his mouth and nose. The looks the Sergeant was shooting him wasn't helping, all doe eyed and attentive. His warm eyes searching his deeply.

He was touching his bleeding forehead with a kerchief a moment later again before Arthur could protest. Arthur didn't even know it was bleeding, he was forgetting himself. Arthur wanted to protest but the act was so comforting, something that never really happened to him in all his childhood days and he had to stop himself from clinging to the Sergeant's coat ends, trying to hold on tight as the world was still spinning fast, the half moon mocking him.

* * *

He woke with the worst hangover and his face covered in bruises from his fall but thankfully all bad decisions were his and his alone. He didn't wake to someone in bed with him this time.

Lt. Alexander requested his presence almost immediately. The Sergeant was already in his office when he arrived. He looked exactly as he felt-like utter shit. They exchanged knowing glances from across the room, both trying hard at repressing stupid grins. It was going to be a long day for them.

The whole day was devoted to more trial runs with the dream sharing machine and unfortunately the somnicol. The science division wanted to rule out all possibilities which Arthur thought was smart. They needed to know why everyone got sick after the first trial run. So they experimented on doses of the somincol and how many entered the dream but it was always the same effect. Arthur never puked that much in his life and feeling achy and hung over already really did not help. It did help to know that the Sergeant was going through the same thing, both of them commiserating.

They had narrowed it down. It mostly likely was the dosage but they were still experimenting to see if it was the amount of people connected to the dream as well.

One of the science techies approached the Sergeant and Arthur.

"We want just two people to go under. Can you two do it?"

The two men exchanged a look. Sergeant Eames looked far too pleased and Arthur could swear he could see him bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Both of them were tired and sick but they couldn't' refuse.

"We're going into your dream, Corporal."

Arthur shot him a look.

"We've been going mostly into my dreams this whole time. As the CO..."

"I'm telling you we're going into your dream," he said a little more sternly.

Why was it always push and pull with him? Just when he thought he could get along with him he does something like this to piss him off.

"Fine," he huffed.

He knew better to argue with him even though technically he shouldn't be since he was his CO. The Sergeant wasn't one for protocol but he shouldn't be second guessing his authority.

It infuriated him none the less especially that they had to lay on cots right next to each other.

As the science team was prepping them the Sergeant had the audacity to look over at him and wink a little.

_I hope he gets really sick._

Arthur closed his eyes and concentrated on just breathing.

One of the assistants depressed the button and they both entered his dream.


	7. See You On the Other Side

"_And I feel right at home  
in this stunning monochrome  
alone in my way…"_

__

_

* * *

_

See You On the Other Side

Not given a choice.

_"We're going into your dream, Corporal."_

Punishment for his sins.

"_You did this."_

Things decided for him.

"_Your father wants you to come with me."_

Rules, lists, routines, order, control.

What was his dream?

He blamed all these things, how sick and tired he felt and even things he hadn't even admitted for the ambiance of his world.

Everything was gray and a little off kilter like things were just slightly tilted and askew, enough to drive you mad.

The cold concrete was hard and cold underneath his bottom. His skin drank it in slowly through the thin material of his uniform.

He drew his knees tighter to his chest trying to fold in on himself to maybe disappear into the shadows.

He was rocking back and forth a little, his eyes trained ever upward to the solitary barred window.

A strange sense of déjà vu seemed to fill the air.

The bare, cracked walls seemed to rise impossibly upward. Only a bunk and a solitary light bulb keeping him company.

He felt like his eyes had somehow magically drifted from their sockets and were in the sky and they might as well be. He couldn't keep them away.

His breath caught in his throat as the sky was much too dark a sure tell sign of a…

He heard footsteps approaching breaking his concentration, freeing him of the spell.

He turned his head slowly to the direction of the sound now echoing closer.

He heard water dripping, dogs barking, guards joking but mostly it was the deafening silence that consumed him.

A figure walks hesitantly past the iron bars and pauses when they're directly in the center, perfect symmetry.

Arthur's eyes feel like they are burning, mind reeling. This figure is taking his attention away from the window. He is stuck in the path of two magnets, can feel the powerful force of the opposing sides wanting to come together but he is in the way.

The figure wraps their fingers around the thick bars and pears in.

Arthur wants to turn his eyes away. Doesn't want them to see him like this but just like with the moon he can't look away.

"Corporal?"

Corporal…it seems so far away now. It's all been decided for him.

He blinks at the visitor, trying to take in his presence, trying to remember.

But he doesn't want to remember. He's never given a choice.

"Corporal? Is there a reason why you're in a cell and all the guards are looking at me like they are going to kill me any second?"

His eyes take in the crisp lines of his strange, foreign uniform and his ears try to process the accent and strange words like little pin pricks of enlightenment.

It's his eyes and that smoker's gravel and his eyes widen. He's too much like him.

"Corporal? What are you doing? Snap out of it!"

He keeps insisting on calling him that, it's almost annoying.

But he's waving an arm feebly through the bars, eyes burning. He wants to get up but his limbs have forgotten how.

He's barking at him now and he can hear other footsteps in the hall approaching.

He can't make out much of what his visitor is saying but he does pick up on: "Fuck."

His visitor slips his fingers out of the bars and slips into the shadows. He hears his fast footsteps echo away and sees the guards rush past his cell.

He almost feels cut off that his visitor has left him alone again.

_He's a thief. He's a liar and a criminal. That's why they are after him. He's trying to get you out. That's why they are after him too._

He has no idea how he knows this. The words are in his head like echoes from a memory.

"Get him out" of what? He's exactly where he should be. He trains his eyes again to the solitary window. No other magnets trying to pull him in a different direction and he waits.

He has no concept of time.

It's all relative.

He hears footsteps once again and a little reverberation on the iron bars. He's immensely irritated that his concentration, his routine is interrupted.

He regrettably swivels his head to the intruder.

It's the visitor.

"Bloody hell! Are your projections going to chase me the entire time? You think this is funny don't you? Hmm?"

He cocks his head and can only blink at the visitor. The absurdity is almost interesting.

"Corporal Marek! Do you hear me? What the bloody hell is wrong with you? You need to snap out of it!"

It's just noise.

His arms clutch around himself tighter and he continues to rock back and forth-a small comfort.

He's shouting things, asking things, making noise, too much noise and then the guards are almost on him. He's sees a slight sliver of his face through the gloom, sees the mask of slight fear he's wearing and it makes him shudder and something like guilt climbs in to meet the other things he's trying not to feel.

He's seen that face before.

_He's trying to get you out._

Oh no, it's all decided for him.

He hears footsteps pound away, slowly fade and become nothing.

He looked too much like him.

* * *

"Arthur."

His eyes close.

He has another visitor but this time he knows who it is. A ghost from the past.

His body tenses and caves in on himself.

"Arthur. You did this."

"You did all of this."

"I know."

His eyes want to meet him. To make contact with the man he hasn't seen in over ten years, to know that it doesn't just end after that conversation. They could have more.

He's partially hidden in the gloom but he can just make out his form behind the bars. His old uniform on, his light hair, clean face, broad shoulders and strong hands. He can't see his face clearly but he knows it holds a frown maybe even a grimace. His arms are crossed. Arthur knows he's trying to keep him here. Maybe he's working with the guards. Maybe he built this impossible place.

"What do you want from me?" his voice is small, the voice of a ten year old boy.

The figure takes a couple steps back.

Arthur can feel himself leaning towards him, following his every move.

"What do you want me to do?" his voice cracks.

The figure is slipping into the shadows slowly, leaving but making his presence known, dissolving into the background, leaving him once again.

And things are releasing from his mouth-screams, protests, pleas, things that don't make sense.

Again time is irrelevant.

It could be five minutes or five years or maybe both.

He hears footsteps approaching. He's starting to believe that's the only sound he lives for.

"Corporal Marek."

A visitor. A ghost from the future. His decided future.

He raises his eyes from the cold concrete.

The familiar figure is sharply dressed in a navy suit; hair slicked back, hands in his pockets. His silhouette is partially obscured by the gloom. He can't make out his face.

"Your father wants you to come with me."

"He never said that. He won't speak to me."

"I'm leaving you with no choice, Corporal. I'm fulfilling a debt and a wish to your father to take you under my wing…"

"I don't know what he wants…"

The figure is backing away slowly.

"I don't know what he wants! Don't know what I want!" he screams at him.

The figure is swallowed up in darkness to meet the past.

Again he waits, punishment for his sins.

Arms clutch too cold of skin, fingers ghosting over things strapped to him. Control, order, rules, lists. But it's not ideas this time it's something tangible. Just as he's about to explore deeper he hears footsteps once again approach.

He's tired. He's taken all he can afford.

"Corporal."

A visitor. A ghost from the present.

His eyes reluctantly rise to meet the voice. Surprisingly he is not obscured and his face is clear to him.

It's the same visitor as before with his foreign uniform and familiar eyes.

He's calling to him warmly, pleasant sounding and sing song, calming voice.

He rises blessedly from the cold concrete armed with new purpose.

He's beckoning him, his warm eyes inviting.

His cell is small but it feels like it takes half a year to shuffle across the dusty, dry floor, like it stretches out impossibly like an optical illusion or mirage.

He makes it.

They are standing face to face, only iron between them.

"Corporal. Are you alright? You have me a little more than worried."

His fingers are curled around cold metal and Arthur does the same so that their fingers are like a candy stripe, barber shop poll. Their fingers are on the same bars; Arthur's just a bit higher up.

The visitor leans in and Arthur can tell he is sweaty, exhausted and rattled, been put through the paces.

He hears footsteps approaching and his heart tightens. The guilt he felt earlier is still palpable. He doesn't want the guards to chase the visitor away anymore.

The visitor's eyes widen and they share a knowing look.

"Quick, give me a kiss."

He is stunned. That's not part of the rules. Not part of his established world but the visitor is leaning in invitingly, even closer to him, eyes searching him desperately as footsteps echo closer. He closes his eyes, feels cold metal at his face as he presses his lips to his in the lightest of kisses, like hummingbird wings, chaste and airy.

He hears footsteps echo past and leave.

The break apart and both sigh-maybe in relief or maybe just out of something else.

And he waits. He waits for the "other thing", the unnamed thing to take hold and grip his body.

One heart beat, two heart beats as they stare at each other, blinking through cold iron bars and gloom, faces so close to one another and Arthur's body is blessedly calm.

The visitor regards him openly, lips smooth into a sweet smile.

"I wasn't sure if that would work," he breathes. "I think your subconscious may like me now or at least leave me alone for a bit," he's leaning in again, maybe to repeat the encounter and Arthur feels transfixed. He should be feeling different…not like this-light, airy, floating. The other thing is not controlling him here. Could that be possible?

His fixed gaze with the visitor is interrupted when he spies a figure from the corner of his eye, looming in the background. The visitor is closing his eyes and his leaning in further, their lips almost brushing again when Arthur removes his fingers from the bars and takes a couple steps back into the shadows.

The visitor's eyes flutter open and looks around confused and almost hurt.

Arthur is walking away backward, mouth hanging open, pointing to the man behind the visitor. His mouth wants to work but it's forgotten how. Too many things decided for him.

A gun appears from inside the jacket of the ghost of the future. Like slow motion Arthur sees him take aim. And just like when he was ten years old feeling powerless to watch his mother fall into the pool he watches it unfold.

The visitor, the ghost of the present, is searching Arthur's eyes.

The ghost of the future is taking steps towards the visitor, cocking his gun.

Arthur can't speak but he remembers what he felt strapped to his body, the thing that was tangible.

The visitor has seemed to finally catch wind of something happening behind him, the silent killer, he is turning around but he's too late.

Arthur pulls the something tangible from the holster at his thigh. It is the familiar weight of his pistol.

The visitor is drawing his own gun but again it feels too late.

Arthur makes a noise. Not quite something human but maybe enough to draw attention.

He can't stop it but he doesn't want to be forced to just stand idly by again.

The visitor is turning his head in his direction, eyes wide.

Arthur digs the barrel into his temple.

The two ghosts are practically on top of each other now but seeming distracted as they take in Arthur.

Arthur clicks the safety off.

"Arthur!" the visitor, the ghost of the present, screams, face screwed up in horror and Arthur's resolve is rattled but only slightly.

_He's never used my first name before .I didn't think he even knew it._

He thinks this and nothing else as the bullet enters his brain, silencing all other thoughts.

* * *

His body is raked by tremors and he's vomiting, vomiting up everything but his stomach is only acid and drugs and then he's vomiting up nothing, only phantom things and Arthur hopes he's vomiting up the dream because it was powerful and it still has its tethers in him making him shake more. He can never shake it. Tears from the retching blur his vision and he can only stupidly half lay over the cot, spit dribbling from his lips, IV still dangling off his vein.

People are on him at once. He feels their warm, coaxing touches. He's poked and prodded, asked things but the world is spinning and he feels too sick to answer them. Light is flashed into his eyes and he feels weightless as the cot leaves the space underneath him.

His eyes open to an unfamiliar ceiling. Stark white. Everything is too barren and pallid. His fingers are ghosting to the pistol that should be at his thigh.

_I'm still in the world I created._

His sore blinking eyes can't comprehend what he's seeing. It takes him a minute to absorb it all. A new IV is connected to his other arm connected to a machine that's beeping softly. He is lying on a bed. He's wearing a flimsy hospital gown.

_I must still be in the world I created…how did I…_

His sees something from the corner of his eye. A slumped figure in the solitary chair.

His head follows the apparition.

It's the visitor…no, it's the Sergeant.

"_Did you ever have a dream that you thought was so real that even after you woke up you still felt like you were in it?"_

"_It's an odd feeling, like you're moving between two worlds…"_

His eyes widen, confusion slowing all rational thoughts as the visitor approaches.

He closes his eyes and feels new tremors rack his body.

He feels the visitor's presence. He hears him place a hand on the guard rails of the bed.

"Corporal? How do you feel?" There's too much concern there like the looks he was giving him from behind the iron bars.

His mouth is dry, disgusting things stuck on his tongue, a taste in his mouth he can't get rid of nor will soon forget.

He nods a little, keeping his eyes closed.

Things that just happened and maybe are still happening are swirling, mixing and becoming one.

"He was going to kill you."

The ghost of the future pulls a pistol from the inside of his jacket, fluid, practiced movements of a trained professional. The visitor is still staring at him wide eyed through the bars, unsuspecting and he feels powerless to watch it unfold.

"I know," he hears the visitor say.

His eyes fly open at that. That voice, those words, so familiar. He peers at the man standing over him, his mind swirling. Surely he isn't the ghost of the past?

They stare at each other and no he's not. Though there is a resemblance he is not that ghost.

"I don't think you understood before but you lost a lot of fluid and electrolytes so they're pumping some into you right now, keeping you under observation for probably 24 hours. That somnicol is real nasty shit. Didn't help that we got pissed last night too…" his voice trails off and Arthur feels it's just words, tuning it out.

He needs something and he doesn't know what it is. He's laughing before he knows it's coming out of his mouth. He never knows what he wants.

The visitor is eyeing him warily.

"This isn't real."

The visitor, the Sergeant, whoever he is leans in closer, studies him.

"This is very real. You're awake. You…you shot yourself to wake up," and his eyes break away quickly, leaning away.

He remembers then. The cool weight of the pistol at his temple, his fingers trembling slightly as he takes in the ghosts from beyond the bars and then nothing, no thoughts.

He's closing his eyes again and taking in a shuddering breath. He feels tiny relief but also embarrassment. The things that happened in his world…

"Oh yes. I remember now," his voice is hoarse. He opens his eyes.

The Sergeant sighs angrily, hand twisting on the guard rail.

"Why did you do it?" he snaps.

"Do what?"

The Sergeant's eyes are narrowed and burning with anger when he trains them on Arthur again.

"Didn't you think it would be just a tee bit dramatic and unpleasant to others to just off yourself like that?" his voice is a low growl.

Arthur's mouth has gone drier, if that was even possible. His initial embarrassment is replaced by anger as well.

"I didn't want you to get killed…"

"By Mr. Cobb…right…And why the bloody hell is he showing up? Toting guns and everything! Bloody hell. I could have handled myself. I avoided the guards well enough."

"It was your idea to enter my dream in the first place! And what the fuck do you have to hide? We've never once entered your dream!" he's practically screaming.

They're staring each other down, snarling and spitting like animals. Arthur imagined they would be circling each other or showing claw if they were able.

"Why a prison? What the fuck do YOU have to hide?" the Sergeant throwing his words back at him.

Arthur feels like he's going to explode at any moment.

They huff and puff in silence for a while, the air seeming to be electric charged, crackling with heightened emotions and fury.

"You're the fucking coward. You may have given me that pathetic white feather but you're the real coward. You're hiding something and instead of being a man, instead of being a Sergeant you're hiding behind my dreams. Letting me take the fall."

The words seem to hit the Sergeant full force, hitting him seemingly in the face and he winces slightly. The air in the room changes, shifts.

The Sergeant is backing away slowly, hands deep in his pockets, grasping something there, head bent slightly.

"You don't…you don't remember anything," he mumbles dejectedly, harshly as he circles to the other side of the room. Arthur watches him stupidly, anger still spiking his system but feels a pang of regret at his harsh words. He can't take them back but almost wishes he could.

The Sergeant is reaching into his pocket, sliding a cigarette out, back to him. When Arthur sees his face again he sees the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, his stony face and pained, hard set eyes as he quickly storms out of the room.

Arthur is alone again.

Exactly how he should be.

* * *

He's buttoning up the last button of his uniform perched on the edge of the bed he's been ridden to for the past day and a half.

He runs a hand through his hair and feels particularly lousy and he knows it's not from still feeling slightly sick. How did the Sergeant manage to not have a bad reaction to the somnicol and test runs? But he can't think of him now.

Luckily a knock on the already open door breaks him out of those thoughts.

He turns his head to the direction of the noise.

Mr. Cobb is leaning against the door frame looking hesitant. Blue eyes burning and that familiar smile flashing. It's hard for Arthur not to shake the image of him in the crisp navy suit pulling a gun from inside his jacket, aiming it at the Sergeant.

"Hi," he says by way of greeting.

"Can I come in?"

His words jostle him out of his daydream, he nods.

He ties his shoes, fussing over that they look scuffed. He would break out the polish and shine them good if he had a free moment.

Mr. Cobb circles to his side of the bed, hands in his pockets, he looks down at his own shoes, maybe thinking they need a good shining of their own.

"Heard about the trials. Glad you were released," he shakes his head a little in disgust.

"They're doing more tests on the somnicol. They're halting the training missions and experiments until they can figure out what the problem is." There's something in his voice that Arthur thinks he should pay attention to but it's too hard.

Arthur's nodding faintly, thoughts totally elsewhere. It's hard for him to erase the image of the Sergeant's stony, pained face out of his mind. It's still hard to shake the dream. Hard to shake the feeling he almost didn't realize he was awake from it. As traumatic as it was he knew he wanted to explore it again, to research it, master it. It was too powerful of a thing to not get caught up into.

"Do you have some free time to talk later?"

Arthur finishes tying his shoes and regards the older man hovering over him.

"I do now."

Mr. Cobb shifts his weight a bit from one foot to the other.

"I meant in private."

Arthur furrows his brows thinking he's missed something and tries to remember the reaction Mr. Cobb showed to the dream sharing trials being postponed.

It must have shown on his face because the deadly consultant picked up on his confusion.

"I have some things I want to go over with you." His tone indicating that it relates to his overly secret and overall "master plan". And what that was Arthur has no clue.

"I need to report in. I need to find…" he almost says "The Sergeant" but that's just a pipedream. They probably should just keep clear of each other for the time being, to cool off. Maybe the dream sharing being postponed came as a blessing in disguise?

"Lieutenant Alexander," he finishes instead.

Mr. Cobb nods, wearing that all knowing expression that he has all the time in the world.

"Alright. Well, I'll come find you later."

Arthur suppresses rolling his eyes. He always does find him…

Arthur gets ups, straightens his uniform and he finds himself walking out with the deadly consultant in tow.

"They're going to have to find someone else to oversee it."

They're outside now and the sudden bright light makes Arthur squint and he shields his eyes from the late morning sun.

The bizarre statement and the dazzling sun slows his pace.

Mr. Cobb shoots him a look, matches his stride.

"Sergeant Eames? He's leaving Fort Irwin."

Arthur stops abruptly and Mr. Cobb stops too after he gets a couple paces ahead of him. He turns around slowly and regards Arthur with a curious look.

Arthur's breath catches in his chest and pain breaks out.

"He didn't tell you?"

Arthur walks past him, mouth slightly open, totally dazed. Mr. Cobb is calling out to him but Arthur ignores him.

He's jogging after a while and the jogging turns into a sprint as he spies the building where the Sergeant's makeshift office is.

He's completely out of breath, legs like jelly as he stumbles into the deserted office.

Everything of his is gone, cleared out. Not a trace of him left.

_He really is a ghost now._

His eyes dart around the room stupidly for a while before he breaks away and he's running again. And to where he's not sure.

Fort Irwin is not a small base but this thought doesn't seem to enter Arthur's brain as he sprints around pathetically, searching for someone and having no idea why.

Was it to snap at him for leaving so suddenly?

To apologize?

To discuss some unfinished business and if that related to dream sharing Arthur wasn't sure.

It was like one of his obsessions or compulsions. He had to find him not thinking he could already be gone.

He's sprinted to the entrance of the base. He's dizzy, bent over, feeling sicker than ever.

He tries to catch his breath, to put two thoughts together when he thinks he hears a foreign accent amongst a jumble of voices.

His head snaps up and he sees a group of officers walking away from his position, they are well beyond the entrance fence but Arthur can just make out a glimmer of a foreign uniform.

The group parts slightly and Arthur can see the Sergeant huddled around the other officers.

He watches as he salutes and gives handshakes to them.

He's eight years old again watching his father from his bedroom window as he leaves-them never liking goodbyes.

Uniform on, bag slung over his shoulder, cigarette burning, morning sun in his light hair and he's walking away. His eyes may be playing tricks on him but he swears he sees something white flutter behind him in the air to be caught up in the wind. He blinks and it's gone.

Arthur follows him with his eyes, has to squint but sees him get into a car. Watches it as it slowly drives away.

* * *

He goes through the motions. Everything seems far away like he's looking at it through a fogged mirror.

He's not surprised when Mr. Cobb finds him later after dinner when he's leaving the mess hall.

He's not in the mood. Conversations are never pleasant with the deadly consultant Arthur finds.

He's received enough pity and wary, concerned glances and questions about "how he is" to last him a lifetime.

He's immensely relieved that Mr. Cobb doesn't ask him, seeming to pick up on his mood.

They walk and talk. They're both men of action and Arthur doesn't feel guilty about cutting to the quick.

"Whatever this is about can we make it quick? I have some things I need to do."

He had reports to write, documenting the dream sharing trials and his personal experiences and then there was the ordeal with filling in the new CO, some bureaucratic, slack jawed, idiot that didn't know his mouth from his asshole. He knew even less about dream sharing. Mr. Cobb would be very pleased to report all that back to the Pentagon.

"That can wait. Trust me."

Mr. Cobb's tone was one of a giddy little school boy. Arthur bit his tongue less he unleash some of his frustration on him.

He stops instead and Mr. Cobb stops with him, observing he's getting better at that.

Arthur raises his eyebrows and shoots him a sarcastic: "I'm waiting" look.

"The dream sharing trials being postponed puts us in a good position. Better than what I had hoped. My original plan has changed a bit."

Arthur didn't like him using "us". Doesn't like it at all. He's again reminded that he's not given a choice.

He thinks back to the prison, the prison of his mind and he shudders.

He eyes the deadly consultant and knows he's going to be following this man around, maybe for the rest of his life. Does he expect a partnership? Is he to be his subordinate? What does he want from him?

What did his father really want from him? What did anybody?

Arthur glares at him which Mr. Cobb takes as: "please continue".

"The timetable has moved up. You need to pack up what you want to take but pack light. If you have something to wear besides your uniform I would wear that."

Arthur blinks at him, mind reeling.

Mr. Cobb flashes his signature smile-all white even teeth and a devilish grin-a million things behind that smile. His eyes look away to the purpling sky and Arthur feels he's totally missed something.

"What?" Arthur barks out.

Mr. Cobb glances back at his face, his brilliant blue eyes burning with intense passion, freezing Arthur in place.

"We're stealing it tonight. We're leaving Corporal and you're coming with me."

* * *

**This story has a companion piece called: "White Feather". It's the same verse but from Eames' point of view. The two stories can be read separately or together but I highly encourge you to read both as it will make more sense later as the stories run parallel and will weave/interlock together :)**


	8. Too Many Days to Get Lost

Sorry for the long wait on the new chapter! Updates should be quicker from now on!

The title of this chapter comes from a line from the Gorillaz song: "Bill Murray" .

Please don't forget to review! :)

* * *

Too Many Days to Get Lost

They stand huddled together awkwardly. Mr. Cobb is relaying the plan but Arthur's only half listening. The whole situation, his life is hard to swallow as of late.

He was waiting to wake up. The same feeling coming over him when he was trapped in the prison cell. He wanted to reach for his gun, pull the trigger and wake up.

_"Did you ever have a dream that you thought was so real that even after you woke up you still felt like you were in it?"_

_"It's an odd feeling, like you're moving between two worlds…"_

He shook his head slightly to rid himself of the thoughts. He couldn't think about him, about how he left, the kiss they shared in the dream. He closed his eyes. He was a fool.

Mr. Cobb is still speaking and Arthur nods his head in understanding every once in a while but he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand anything.

"Kiss your military life goodbye."

The stress was overwhelming, he felt the familiar feeling of his body taking over without his control.

It's the obsessions and compulsions. It's like he's too big for his own body. He feels stuffed into something too small for him. And then Mr. Cobb is telling him where to meet him later, telling him to go pack his stuff up. He walks numbly back to his barracks for the last time.

He paces around the room a little taking in everything familiar knowing that once he steps out outside everything will change and be anything but familiar. He's going to be walking away from everything with order. Everything routine and set. He touches the walls faintly in a "goodbye".

After he undressed and removed his gun he put on his only civilian clothes-a dark green t-shirt and khaki pants. It feels wrong.

He fingers his dog tags and he numbly slips them from around his neck. He traces his fingers over the imprinted name and numbers, flipping it over in his hands, wondering if he'll be losing a part of himself now that he won't be wearing them. He thinks about tossing them but pockets them instead. He wants to keep a reminder, a reminder of the life he once had. He was a Corporal, a leader of men, one of the first involved in a new and exciting technology full of endless possibilities-the dream sharing.

He was part of something big, something new and now...And now he was no longer any of those things.

He was just Arthur Marek: 21 year old running from his past and pathetically running to his father or at least trying to. By leaving he was going to lose a part of himself and he really did not want to get lost. The unknown always lead to a dark place full of memories, obsessions, compulsions and the "other thing". He was also afraid of what he may gain as well.

He was sitting tying his shoes when the compulsion decided to take over. He couldn't get up until he tied it correctly or something bad would happen to him. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, bent over, tying and retying. His back and fingers started to ache and it became increasingly harder to concentrate.

He tried so hard to use the techniques that he learned from Dr. Trollsund but it was like cutting through a dense fog, a black veil over his thoughts. He tried to focus on why he felt he needed to do it and gradually though he isn't sure how much time passes he's able to loosen his grip on the tied laces.

He only gets up from his chair when he hears someone enter. Arthur starts moving numbly around the barracks and packs his things. He doesn't have much. He never has.

* * *

He slips out when it's pitch black and way after "lights out". It's late. Most of the officers, personnel and soldiers are asleep, blissfully unaware. The October air is crisp and cool and his bare arms break out in goose pimples immediately when he steps outside to meet it. He's not sure if it's from the air or the sense of foreboding he's getting.

He looks around faintly, pathetically trying to absorb his surroundings, locking it away in his mind for later. He wants to be able to remember it-how Fort Irwin looks tiny and vulnerable in the faint moon's glow, the sleeping soldiers tucked away in their bunks, totally oblivious. The way the grass is dying and turning brown under his feet, crunching slightly under his boots. The fences, repetitive buildings of the same size and bland color, the tanks, the humvees, the helicopters, the training fields, the mountains that he knows are normally visible in the horizon, the dry and dusty dirt, the rocks and tumble weeds. He's not sure what path is before him but he wants to remember all these things, the predictable life he used to have. Life could be worse. It could always be worse he reminds himself. It's something that Dr. Trollsund has helped him discover and admit over the years but he still needed to say these things.

But he killed her. He couldn't bury that in a life regimented, controlled and picked out for him anymore. Could he forget her in dreaming?

Since the Sergeant left the new Sergeant, Sergeant Aaron, was the one overseeing the dream sharing training and responsible for the dream sharing machine. It worked to Arthur's and Mr. Cobb's advantage because Sergeant Aaron had just come on board and didn't have an office set up just yet. Which meant that the device was being held in the training facility building which was much easier to break into according to Mr. Cobb because of its location.

Arthur and Mr. Cobb had certain clearance for certain things. Arthur had more clearance because he was a Corporal. The way they were breaking in would be similar to when they broke into the mess hall after hours. Arthur would be the lookout and run interference if necessary while Mr. Cobb would break into the building. Both of them would help disassemble and pack up the intricate and heavy device. What happened after that Arthur wasn't so sure.

They were outside huddled around the back of the training facility building.

"What do we do once we have it?"

"I'm having someone pick us up."

"Oh."

Arthur should have thought of that but he was feeling like his world was turned upside down and biting back the obsessions and compulsions was getting increasingly harder. He was going AWOL. He was a deserter. Once he chose this he could never come back. But again he didn't have a choice. If he had any hope of accomplishing what his father wanted and having him forgive him for killing his mother then he had to do it.

Arthur stood watch as Mr. Cobb picked the lock. They both slipped inside. After securing the door Mr. Cobb moved swiftly and set down the big duffel bag he was carrying, unzipping it a second later and tossing something to Arthur. Arthur catches it and holds up a guard uniform including hat. Mr. Cobb is already putting his on, stuffing his other clothes into his duffel bag.

Arthur dons the uniform quickly stuffing his own clothes in his bag and they set about carefully disassembling the large machine. The machine isn't easily portable and it makes Arthur wonder what Mr. Cobb has in store for the dream sharing, remembering their late night conversation in the mess hall about how Mr. Cobb felt they hadn't tapped into the technology's true potential.

Arthur takes in the dark room as they work, letting his eyes wander. He's spent a lot of intimate time inside these walls-running drills with his squad, preparing for battle and testing out the dream sharing machine. He's spooling wires around his wrist when his eye catches some chairs pushed up against the far wall. He thinks they look familiar and something in his brain tingles. He shrugs it off. Of course they look familiar he's been in this building countless times. The odd feeling doesn't leave however and he keeps picturing a hand in his as he sits in one of those chairs. He shakes his head. _Impossible._

_"Did you ever have a dream that you thought was so real that even after you woke up you still felt like you were in it?"_

They pack away the machine into the bags Mr. Cobb brought and the older man flashes him a look after they finished. Arthur meets it head on.

"Now what?"

"Now, Arthur, we leave."

Arthur bristles at the casual use of his name and wants to open his mouth to protest, to correct him but he bites it back. He remembers at the last minute that he no longer is a Corporal. That identity is long gone now, buried and sealed away inside the walls that surround him.

Arthur knows that phase two of the plan involves some kind of decoy or distraction being played out in the base so Arthur and Mr. Cobb can slip out as inconspicuously as possible.

Arthur hears it before he sees it-the distant sound of alarm bells blaring and the distinct sounds of a distant fire erupting, angrily eating away at the surroundings, cracking and spitting. He turns to the sound and sees dark smoke curling impossibly upwards and distant flames rising to the sky like an offering coming from the direction of some buildings that are used for storage. Arthur notices Mr. Cobb is nodding and smiling faintly. His normally steely blue eyes are now orange, flames dancing wildly off of them.

"I set the timer to go off in one of the storage buildings. I guess I timed it pretty well. We gotta keep moving."

Arthur can't keep his eyes off the rising flames. His head is bent, looking over his shoulder as they sky turns different shades of red and orange as they walk quickly away from the training facility building, heavy bags hanging from their shoulders like constant reminders of the path they've chosen.

Officers, guards, and soldiers rush past them to presumably help fight the fire that Mr. Cobb has caused. The two men keep their heads down, lowering their caps over their eyes as they breathe in smoke that has blanketed the base. The air smells and tastes heavily like burned wood and ash.

They stop at the high metal fence-the only barrier between them and the outside world. Arthur glances over his shoulder one more time, smoke and ash heavy in his lungs and nose, his breathing and heart beat rapid. He sees the flames, now seeming tiny in the horizon and again he gets a strange tingling in his brain. He sees a flash of a small country home with green, lush, rolling hills all around. He's touching peeling wallpaper and chipped paint on the walls as he moves around the small house with buckling wood floors and thread bare carpet. The small house erupts into flames and suddenly he's outside in the back yard watching as smoke pools out of broken windows pluming up into the dusk sky. But it isn't his house. His house was large, set high on the cliffs near the green ocean. But still he watches. The ash that rains down suddenly turns to white feathers. He cranes his neck impossibly upwards as the small, light things tickle and dance on his face. He's only aware someone is next to him when he hears what he thinks is a familiar voice.

"I did this."

The person's face is obscured by the millions of feathers raining down from the sky, blanketing the soft grass like snow, almost drowning out their voice. Arthur watches the white feathers fall into the rising flames. They curl, bubble and turn black. The feathers cover everything, creating a whiteout. Arthur is almost afraid he'll get swallowed up in it just like the feathers in the flames.

"I know," Arthur says but his voice seems small-the feathers wanting to enter inside. The whole world becomes obscured and turns white.

"Arthur," there's a light hand on his shoulder and Arthur whips his head around to the direction of the touch, his body feeling like it's been electro shocked, his breath catching in his smoky throat. He shudders and fights the reflex to close his eyes. The world is familiarly black and cold again not white and hot from flames.

Mr. Cobb is staring at him. His brilliant, passionate blue eyes are burning just as intensely as the flames. He releases his hand from Arthur's trembling shoulder. Arthur finally feels like he can breathe, his mind has stopped spinning and he's brought back down to earth.

"We gotta go," Mr. Cobb jerks his head to the gap that's been cut at the bottom of the fence. It's just big enough for a man to squeeze through. Arthur nods curtly, desperately trying to shake out the thoughts that gripped his mind seconds ago. It feels like there are feathers still in his head making him feel drowsy and light. He feels bewildered and slow from shock. His movements are sloppy and sluggish like a toddler as he pathetically crawls under the fence-it scratching and catching on his uniform, cold metal digging into his skin uncomfortably. He numbly takes the bags that Mr. Cobb pushes through. Mr. Cobb shoots a look over his shoulder, one last cautious glance and then dives under the fence a second later.

Mr. Cobb has to practically throw the bag at Arthur and push him along to keep moving. Arthur is still in a daze. His head is full of feathers, familiar words, flames, black and white and the endless, unknown road that's before him.

* * *

They walk hurriedly down the dark dirt road, Arthur having to be pushed and prodded along way. Arthur is faintly aware that it's an access road used by trucks for deliveries and things on the opposite end of the main entrance to the base. They walk in silence for a time, moving in a direction away from the main entrance, the moon and still night their only companions.

Arthur can only hear his boots shuffling over dry dirt and small rocks, his heavy breath and the wind in the barren branches of the trees. Arthur isn't sure how long they walk. It could be a long or short distance. By the time he spies the van that's presumably waiting for them the sun is just coming up, dusting the sky with faint oranges, purples and reds, the mountains in the horizon becoming visible like they're coming out of a deep sleep.

Mr. Cobb takes the bag from Arthur's slack grip and loads them into the back. Arthur climbs into the van feeling like he's part of the device that's tucked away and hidden safely in the confines of the bags and car. The driver peers over his shoulder and blinks at Arthur, looking him over curiously. He's around the same age as Mr. Cobb with inquisitive, intelligent yet bored eyes. He seems put out and releases a huff before whipping his head back and starting the engine. Mr. Cobb climbs into the van taking a seat next to Arthur to his surprise and suddenly Arthur is very tired. Getting no sleep, the adrenaline rush wearing off, the alarming day dream and losing part of if not all of his identity catches up with him.

They take off down the road, entering the highway a short time later. Mr. Cobb is talking to the driver, giving instructions but Arthur doesn't pay attention to what they're saying. He watches the sun come up, ghosting his fingers around the dog tags still in his pocket, sleep tugging at his eyes.

Something lands in his lap breaking him out of his stupor. It's a passport. He opens it and looks it over with bleary vision. He shoots the deadly consultant turned thief a look.

"Carlos Domingo?"

Mr. Cobb's attention is on his window and the passing scenery in the faint morning light. He bites his lip like he's trying to contain a smile or laugh and he shrugs.

"It's the best I could come up with in such short time."

Arthur stares at the picture on the passport. It's a picture from his later high school days maybe even for the yearbook. He never really had his picture taken much at all. He feels the beginnings of bewilderment again as he has no idea how Mr. Cobb would have gotten a hold of the picture and maybe he doesn't want to know. He traces a thumb over the passport it making the situation more real. He really has left his former life and is starting a new one.

He lets his head sink further back into the headrest, eyes closed, weariness taking over.

"…Can sleep until we get to the airport if you like? We'll have to change out of these clothes…"Mr. Cobb's words fade in and out. He's only left feeling like he's been stolen just like the dream sharing machine as he succumbs to familiar blackness.

* * *

He feels sudden movement that makes him jerk forwards in his seat, rattling him awake. His head snaps up and he's discombobulated. He momentarily forgets where he is as he blinks awake. The stranger in the driver's seat is smirking at him. Mr. Cobb berates the stranger, telling him it isn't funny. Arthur takes in the surroundings through his window and sees they're in a parking garage. He turns to Mr. Cobb who flashes him that dazzling smile.

"We're here."

They change quickly in the van. The driver drums the steering wheel impatiently; grating on Arthur's already frayed nerves. Mr. Cobb gives them a hurried introduction: "Arthur, this is my associate and sometimes acting Architect Russell. Russell this is our…new team member Arthur." The driver, Russell, gives Arthur a little half salute, a smug smile on his lips. "Pleasure," he drawls out and Arthur notes the British accent.

"Architect?" Arthur squeaks out mystified as Mr. Cobb slides open the van door, climbing out. He hears the back doors being opened. The driver regards him coolly. "You know with buildings, schematics, and floor plans and such?" He twirls his fingers absentmindedly and there's a mock in his English drawl. Arthur unbuckles his seatbelt with fumbling fingers, heavy confusion still consuming his mind.

He meets Mr. Cobb and Russell around the back of the van. Mr. Cobb hands them both a duffel bag and relays what has to be part of the plan to Russell in hushed tones, something about the bags are going to be picked up by his inside guy in baggage claim once they are checked.

And then Arthur is hurried inside almost rudely as he apparently wasn't moving fast enough for the two older men. He hadn't been in an airport for a while. He hadn't taken a leave and gone home to see Dr. Trollsund in almost a year. The thought pains him. He goes through the motions however, sometimes being guided by Mr. Cobb. He flashes his fake passport and no one questions Mr. Carlos Domingo.

"Have a safe and pleasurable flight to Paris Mr. Domingo," the attendant smiles sweetly and hands him back his ticket and passport. Arthur can only blink and nod at her, numbly taking the items.

When they're safely out of earshot and while they're walking to their gate Arthur chances his question:

"Paris?"

Mr. Cobb is hiding a smile again. Russell takes it upon himself to answer. "Base of operations for right now. That and his tart is there waiting for him," he jerks a thumb at an almost blushing Mr. Cobb. Mr. Cobb shakes his head a little, a smile threatening to spill over and looks away.

Everything goes smoothly and he notes how well oiled machines Russell and Mr. Cobb are like they've done this a million times, nothing phasing them, almost looking bored like they've stolen countless expensive and top secret things from the military before.

When they board the plane Mr. Cobb takes the aisle seat next to Arthur, Russell in the row ahead of them.

"Figured you'd want to sleep. It's a long flight." Arthur wants to do anything but. His mind is buzzing, a million questions on his tongue. The main one being: _"Who am I now?"_

Sleep finds him anyway after he gets bored of reading the in-flight magazines and listening to the din of people's voices and the soft drone of the airplane noises. He knows he always dreams of things that have already happened to him, his unoriginal and rigid mind not allowing the fanciful to stream through. So why does he dream of a small country home set in the rolling green hills and white feathers falling from the sky?

* * *

He sleeps during most of the flight. The strange dream rattles him, grips him even when he's awake. It feels so real, so visceral.

_"Did you ever have a dream that you thought was so real that even after you woke up you still felt like you were in it?"_

_"It's an odd feeling, like you're moving between two worlds…"_

He does feel like he's still in it, moving between two worlds watching the small country home burst into flames-the heat and feathers on his face, the stranger at his side. And fuck, Arthur doesn't want to think about the Sergeant. The Sergeant with his hard set yet sad eyes as he walks briskly out of the hospital room after their blowup. How he observed him from afar walking away, out of Fort Irwin, out of his life, getting into a car and driving away just like his father. He had called him a coward but Arthur knew deep down that they both were. Arthur was always running away. Now he was running to something and he had no idea what that was.

Arthur had done a tour in Afghanistan not liking the international travel and all that came with it. When they land after their connecting flight, safely picking up their checked bags and trying to navigate out of the airport he's reminded again of why he swore he wouldn't travel internationally again unless he had to. Every place is flooded with people, too many people-bodies that rudely jostle and bump into him. For a person who's not used to being touched it's an absolute nightmare. He feels like his deceased mother-that everyone is unclean as he feels hot, sweaty, smelly bodies brushing his. His personal space is invaded, his feet stepped on, odds looks shot his way because of his shaved head and two older "body guard" companions. He feels he can't breathe and the obsessions and compulsions are bubbling up, threatening to overtake him.

Somehow, seemingly magically, they make it outside to join the taxi cue. Arthur inhales fresh, clean air deeply. Russell claps him on the back sucking that air right out a second later. "A little green around the edges as far as traveling are we?" Arthur can see Mr. Cobb shoot Russell a look from the corner of his eye. He hears them bickering a few seconds later as Arthur pathetically tries to regain his breath. He really hates traveling.

* * *

The cab ride thankfully was a short one. It's now night. He has no idea what time it is, having crossed so many time zones and the international dateline. He's slept so much but he feels he can sleep again for a thousand years. He's exhausted, the constant traveling, being bustled from one place to another. He can feel the color being drained from his face, eyes bleary and tired. He probably looks like something the cat dragged in.

The cab stops at a hotel. Mr. Cobb shakes his head when Arthur puts his hand on the door handle to exit. Russell parts ways with them. "It's been a pleasure, mates," true sarcasm dripping from his words.

"Mal wants to me you," Mr. Cobb states this like it's an explanation for everything. Arthur peers at him curiously when he doesn't follow that up with anything else. "You can…stay with us if you want. She may…she may like that."

Arthur didn't like the idea that someone, anyone was babying him. Yes, he was younger than him and "Mal" who he supposed was his girlfriend. Yes, he had never been to this city. Yes, he hated traveling and was travel weary, jet lagged and overall just tired. He could be put up in a hotel. He managed a squad of soldiers he sure as hell could stay at a foreign hotel by himself, could get around ok if he was given a map. Arthur opens his mouth to protest. If this is how it's going to be with Mr. Cobb then maybe they need to lay down some ground rules.

"She's persistent. She won't take no for an answer. I've learned not to argue with her on certain things," he's bashful again, averting his eyes. Arthur notices through the travel weariness on the older man's face that he's beaming, his blue eyes shining. He seems anxious too, checking his phone and watch repeatedly. Arthur had forgotten through everything that Mr. Cobb hadn't seen his girlfriend, the other counterpart of his team, in quite a while. This quiets Arthur, his words of protest dying in his throat.

The cab stops again. This time near a pier right on the Seine River. Arthur feels bewildered again but as time progresses and the weariness is winning over he learns to just accept it. This time he is allowed to exit after Mr. Cobb pays the driver. Arthur can't help but smile a little as Mr. Cobb is trying very hard to hide his enthusiasm and anticipation. He practically bounces as he leads Arthur authoritatively around the pier. The night air smells of salt, dead fish and slightly of sewage. There's a slight fog rolling in. He hears the faint sounds of boats blaring their horns, cutting through silent, black water.

They walk through a warehouse district finally stopping at the furthest one, jutting up and out to the Seine, one side is uninhibited and looks out to it completely. On the other side of it is another warehouse. Even in the faint, yellowish glow of the scant lights that outline the pier he can make out that it' a rather large building, Pier Number Six it's labeled on one side. It looks ancient complete with crumbling brick, dusty, taped up windows, some walls almost covered completely with glass that look like they could far apart with a rather gentle wind. It looks rather dreadful and Arthur is not anticipating it looking any better on the inside. They're about 300 feet from what Arthur suspects is an entrance when he sees a figure walking towards them on the pier. He thinks it's a woman from what he thinks is hair fluttering around in the slight breeze.

Mr. Cobb picks up his pace, practically jogging when he spies the figure too. Arthur again has to contain his small smile. He's never seen the deadly consultant like this before, so loose, his guard dropped, his human and "real" side revealed.

As they approach closer, Arthur trailing behind respectfully, keeping his distance, he knows that this woman must be Mal because of the way she smiles, her eyes warbling with tender emotion, her gaze never leaving the deadly consultant's face. She's beautiful he notices, almost breathtakingly so. Even under the faint yellow lights above the warehouse he can see her big greenish eyes shining, her full lips trembling, holding back tears as Mr. Cobb is shrugging off the duffel bag and is running into her arms. He scoops her up and swings her around a little in a circle and they're laughing and smiling through repressed tears of joy. It's a scene he remembers seeing in his youth when his father would come home after being away for years on end. His mother would practically bolt out of her chair and just wait by the door eagerly when she heard the car pull up. She would fall into his arms the minute he opened the door and they would stand there, him half in, half out, embracing like the world was ending. He's eight years old again and is watching the same scene. Arthur feels his face flush and he averts his eyes from the tender reunion respectfully, standing back in what he hopes is a safe or proper enough distance. He looks out to the beautiful black Seine for a while, watching the twinkling city lights from across the pier reflecting back into the dark river like a mirror, the city he has yet to really explore stretched out before him invitingly.

He turns his attention back to the couple but they are still busy kissing, caught in a lover's embrace and whispering. He's seen it before but he doesn't understand it. He had kissed, had been embraced, had fucked but what Arthur was viewing was pure, unadulterated love. And that was something Arthur had never experienced, his mind, his broken and buried heart and the "other thing" always getting in the way. He felt a shiver down his spine and he knew it wasn't from the slight salt breeze blowing.

He enjoyed the view of the beautiful city across the opaque river for a while until he felt them approach. Mr. Cobb had his arm around her tightly, holding her to his side in a sweet, protective gesture. They would be inseparable now he decided. Arthur imagined that Mr. Cobb was trying to keep her as close as humanly possible. They both were flushed in the face, eyes still glistening a little from runaway tears though shiny and warm and the woman, Mal, was resting her head on the deadly consultant's shoulder. They both regarded Arthur with warm, innocent smiles. Arthur was almost stunned. He had never seen Mr. Cobb so relaxed, so vulnerable, so at home. It suited him he decided.

"Arthur. This is my girlfriend, Mal. Mal; this is our new team mate. He's Jacob Marek's son."

Closer up she was even lovelier than he originally thought. Delicate features, striking cheek bones and smile just like her mate's. She was stunning without trying just like him as well. She stretched a hand out to Arthur's and they shook hands. "Pleasure to meet you, dear." Her voice was mesmerizing too-sing song and French accented. He knew now why Mr. Cobb liked her, why he acted they way he did when he was around her, why he was desperately trying to get back to her, to come home. Just like with someone else he met Arthur felt like he was being pulled into her vortex, into her world full of soft light and sweet promises. He found himself liking her and he hadn't even spoken to her yet.

"Let's go inside. You don't have a coat, dear." She fussed over him a little while Mr. Cobb stayed close mouthed and Arthur knew then who called the shots. Mr. Cobb definitely did not wear the pants in the relationship and he seemed fine with it.

Arthur allowed them to lead him inside the decrepit warehouse. He was expecting crumbling furniture, ancient machinery, bird and rat shit scattered everywhere, dust and mold covering every surface. To his surprise it was quite clean, airy and homey inside. The concrete floors were cold but clear. The second floor with catwalks and railings looked ancient but endearing. He liked the many beams and overlapping boards on the high ceiling. The multitude of windows gave it a very open feel but the way things were arranged made it feel more livable. He was given a tour of the place where he would be working intimately for God knows how long. The main area or great room was divided between makeshift offices, a meeting area and general work space. There were other small rooms off shooting from the great one used for private offices, laboratory, workshop and other research rooms. There are a couple bathrooms and a kitchen off of one wing. But what was really interesting and attention grabbing were the circle of lawn chairs, cots, old chaise lounges and other relaxed surfaces in the middle of the great room. The second floor was mostly empty. They used a couple rooms for storage and a couple small rooms had beds. "For just in case or if someone is working late and needs to rest for a while," Mal explains, squeezing Mr. Cobb's hand.

The couple seemed far too eager to start unpacking and setting up the dream sharing machine to really show Arthur or explain anything to him in great detail. Arthur again got the feeling he should get used to just accepting things and tried his best to help them unpack the device. They set it up in the middle of the great room right by the enclosed circle of chairs and other things. Mal is making clicking and humming noises in approval, chatting away quickly, asking Mr. Cobb a million questions about the theft of the device, looking wide eyed and hopefully wild.

She of course wanted to go under right away after the three of them tirelessly set up the device.

"Sweetheart, it's late. Arthur and I have been on the go for almost two days straight." Mal shoots Arthur a warm smile, something eager and dangerously passionate glinting in her eyes, mirroring Mr. Cobb's when he speaks of dream sharing almost flawlessly.

"Let him decide, dear. He can speak for himself."

The two of them regard the ex Corporal who finds himself sinking a little under their intense gaze.

"You can consider it your first lesson," she coxes and Mr. Cobb looks away, shaking his head a little, a faint smile on his lips. "Mal," he starts but his lover shoots him a look that shuts him up. "It's been so long for me and what better way to get to know someone, hmm? Sharing dreams can be the best and most intimate way to unify a team," she shoots Arthur another heart melting smile and Arthur finds himself locked in her powerful gaze and nods.

"Wonderful," she exclaims, clapping her hands together and she's moving around the room, tinkering with the device. Mr. Cobb strokes his chin a little, shaking his head, shooting Arthur apologetic looks. Arthur waves it off but he finds his breath has quickened and his heart racing. He hasn't been under for something truly recreational, only for training or experimental purposes only. He thinks back to the prison, the ghosts that decided to show up and the way he got ill afterwards and he shudders. He's filled with excitement and anxiousness though despite his nerves. He had missed the dream sharing and a sense of longing he didn't know he felt came to the surface.

Mr. Cobb was whispering something to Mal, probably telling her to take it easy on Arthur, maybe explaining what happened last time he went under. He shoots Arthur another mournful look as he preps their IVs. He kisses his girlfriend's forehead sweetly before he turns and depresses the button on the device. Arthur meets Mal's big, shining eyes-the last thing he sees before they enter her dream.

This story has a companion piece called: "White Feather" which runs parallel to this story from Eames' POV. Both stories can be read separately but encouraged to be read together as the story will make more sense later.


	9. Memory Forgotten

**A/N: Just a little recap for anyone that may be confused as I am throwing a lot of dates and numbers at you during one part of this chapter.**

**The current year for the story is 2001 set 8 years before inception or the Fischer job happens.**

**Current ages of the characters:**

**Arthur-21**

**Eames-25**

**Mal-26**

**Dom-28**

**Miles-57**

**Yes, I know that Michael Caine is in his 70's I realize this but was he really supposed to be that old in "Inception"? Probably not so I kind of fudged his age a little bit. At least when Inception happens he's 65 in my verse which I think is appropriate.**

**Thanks so much to everyone that has been reading/reviewing as it gives me the strength to go on! Please continue to review to let me know if you would like more, what can be improved, etc. Thanks so much!**

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A Memory Forgotten

Arthur opens his eyes to endless beautiful fields. The sky above bears white puffy clouds that hang so low in the sky it almost feels like Arthur can reach up a hand and easily touch them. Arthur is lying on the soft ground and as he shifts it doesn't feel like grass underneath him. When he's up in a sitting position he realizes its tulips and what his eyes thought were fields were but they are of tulips of all different colors. Arthur has to squint to look at the horizon as it's almost too brilliant and dazzling for his eyes.

He hears movement next to him and he turns his head and sees Mal has sat up and is looking out to the view around them. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply through her nose looking completely tranquil and at home. Arthur's just about to ask her a question when her eyes snap open and she turns her attention to Arthur. She gets up and sticks a hand out to Arthur. Arthur studies her hand but doesn't take it. Dream or no dream he still isn't used to touching people even though he may have touched the Sergeant. Arthur shakes himself to rid himself of the thought and gets up without Mal's help. Mal is looking out to the endless fields of blooming tulips with a sweet smile on her face.

"Beautiful isn't it?" She turns to Arthur slowly and Arthur finds himself nodding though feeling a bit dazzled. The only time he had shared dreams was strictly for military purposes namely on how to train soldiers, run training exercises and how to kill. He didn't know sharing dreams; personal dreams could be so…well beautiful as Mal put it. They walk and Arthur soon discovers that they are on top of a ridge. They make their way down it crushing delicate tulips under their shoes in the process. The decent is a little slippery and cumbersome but as they make their way down the ridge and pick up a little speed from their momentum Arthur feels himself smiling. He feels the air whip around his face and he feels like he's six years old again and allowed to play outside in some off, rare occasion. He feels free. Mal is laughing sweetly beside him and she picks up speed and is practically sliding down the ridge. She does a cartwheel when she gets to the bottom. Arthur catches up with her a short time later and both of them are a little out of breath, bent over, hands on knees though smiling through flushed cheeks.

Mal motions for Arthur to follow and Arthur follows her through the endless fields of tulips. The sun is shining brightly. He feels the warm rays absorb through his skin and his clothes warming him. He outstretches his hands and dips his fingers to the fields feeling the petals of the tulips so velvety and smooth on his fingertips. He finds himself closing his eyes and he inhales deeply the scents of the sweet flowers and relishes in how the tulips feel. He opens his eyes a short time later and sees that Mal is a distance away from him kneeling, back to him, in a spot of land that bears no tulips. The land she's kneeling in is barren and only sports dirt. The small area looks rather ugly and obscene next to the colorful brilliance that's before them. When Arthur approaches closer he notices that Mal is clawing at and scooping dirt with her fingers and is planting seeds. Arthur sits beside her. Mal looks over her shoulder, pushing hair out of her face and smiles warmly at Arthur.

"It's been so long for me. I love coming here. It's like my hideaway."

"Why tulips?" Arthur looks out to the vast sea of reds, purples, oranges, yellows, pinks and even whites- the vast array of vibrant colors making his eyes hurt. He squints with the sun in his eyes.

Mal wipes a little sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and wipes dirt from her hands on her pant leg. She pivots a little so she's facing Arthur though still kneeling in the dirt.

"They're perennials. They always come back. I planted all these and although they'll die they'll always come back and bloom," she smiles a little and Arthur notices a little sadness touching at her eyes. "Dom doesn't agree with me and we don't really know how far the dream sharing can go, we're still learning things but I would think that if you can die in a dream that you would come back just like these flowers," she looks out to the world she's created. "The worlds we create in our minds…" and there are tears in Mal's eyes suddenly. She blinks several times and takes a breath. "They're too special to be forgotten and not come back but," she wipes at her eyes with the back of her dirt stained hands. "That again is where Dom and I differ. We both love to explore and create, to revel in this new discovery but I like to store and save things too," she smiles again and goes back to digging at the earth with her fingers, gently raking at it, treating it with much kind and tender care.

"But if this is a dream, a world you created, wouldn't the flowers just come back or stay the same regardless if you planted more? If you wanted them to they wouldn't have to die." Arthur feels he really doesn't understand anything about the dream world nor anything about this lovely creature kneeling in front of him. Mal smiles and shakes her head, soft curls bouncing around her delicate features just like the tulips she planted, her focus still on the dirt.

"That's true, dear. But I love to plant them and watch their cycle and again to me knowing that they always come back gives me hope and it makes my heart soar. It's like a truth knowing that I haven't planted them all yet. It's something I can fall back on. It makes me feel like I'm not dreaming," she laughs a sweet, sing song laugh. She meets Arthur's gaze. "That probably doesn't make much sense, no?"

"You dream to make it feel more like reality?"

Mal shrugs a little, a smile playing on her pretty lips. "In a way yes," she rubs her hands together to rid them of dirt. "But Dom always teases that I'm a little selfish and this is true. I always want more," she winks and it's like a patented Mr. Cobb wink, a wink of playfulness and full of sin. Arthur wonders who started the wink first.

"We have a lot to teach you," Mal gets up suddenly and dusts herself off. She doesn't offer her hand to Arthur this time and Arthur is almost thankful for it. He's glad but also a little embarrassed that she's learning not to offer him her hand. That maybe it isn't ok to touch him and Arthur's cheeks burn a little. They walk slowly through the fields again until the endless rows of tulips become sand and beach and there's an emerald ocean stretched out before them to their one side.

"We also have a lot to learn about each other. This is my dream so naturally you'll learn about me but we'll learn about you too when we go into your dreams." Arthur doesn't know how he feels about that. He barely knows how dream sharing really works and the actual rules if there are any. Arthur's never been very good at letting people in and he feels when he does they leave right away. His mind flashes to Mr. Henry, his teacher, and the Sergeant and Arthur grits his teeth with anger. Arthur had always kept to himself, closed off his emotions and avoided getting close to people. The prospect of opening his mind freely to others didn't exactly thrill him.

_What did I get myself into?_

Arthur stops walking. He looks down to his sand stained shoes and watches the tide. He digs a little through the crystalline sand until his fingers brush a flat rock. He skips it out to the ocean and squints at it until he can't see it all. It calms his nerves a little, the surroundings so much like his childhood home but much like endless crashing waves his mind too is a tumble of emotions. He sees a flash then, lightning quick in his brain. He's chasing the tide and the wind is ruffling his hair. There's someone next to him and they are smiling with him, watching him, content just with his company. He walks the beach with this person until Arthur spies his home, his childhood home in the distance resting on its familiar cliff. The flash and the vision is gone, over in an instant but it confuses Arthur since it's a dream of him as an adult and he hadn't been back to New Hampshire, his home or spent any real time on a beach with anyone like that. A strange feeling comes over him and its like when Mr. Cobb and him were stealing the dream sharing machine and he had the vision of the house burning and the white feathers falling from the sky like a dream but almost feeling like a memory forgotten. He feels cold all of a sudden though the sun is high in the sky and is blazing hot.

Arthur notices Mal looking over her shoulder and noticing that Arthur isn't walking behind her. She walks up to Arthur with her eyebrows furrowed, the light salt breeze in her hair, the sun from the waves lighting up her pale features.

"What's wrong, dear?" her big green eyes much like the sea search Arthur's, concern and worry plastered all over her face.

Arthur kicks at a small rock in the sand and avoids her eyes, rubbing at his arms and trying to push out the strange vision. He looks out to the sea. He didn't want to be childish and ungrateful. Mr. Cobb and him had come all this way and they were in Paris now but Arthur didn't chose this life. It was chosen for him. He was doing what he felt he should do. He also felt he was addicted to the dream sharing, that he had a hunger for it and he wasn't sure how to satiate it but he was scared of it at the same time. He needed to understand it and control it. He felt he had a long road ahead of him and he had no idea where it was leading. Arthur was all about control and order; it was what kept his disorders in check. How would he survive on his own without that constant routine and control? How does he explain that to someone? If Mal or Mr. Cobb knew of his disorders, his dark past or the "other thing" would they send him away? Would they regret their decision to include him? Although Arthur tells himself it doesn't matter if they do it does. As unsure of this life he's leading he doesn't want to be turned away. Arthur laughs a little bitterly under his breath and Mal is still searching his face, frowning and not backing down, another trait that her and her boyfriend share.

"This place just reminds me a little of home. I guess I'm a little homesick," he lies. He wants Mal to stop searching him like she's trying to figure him out and to stop looking concerned.

"You're a horrible liar." Arthur meets her eyes and her eyes are burning with fierceness and conviction.

"I know you just met me but I want you to know that you can trust me, dear. We're a small little group of dream sharing rebels. It started off as just an invention and small experiment and then it grew. We were just on the cusp of something when the military took over but now we have it back," her green eyes are burning with intensity and her gaze won't break away from Arthur's. "We're starting this new, exciting thing together and we need to be honest with each other and work together as a team, dear. We're paving the way for some big things but we need you to trust us. If there's anything I can do please just ask," and she smiles a heart melting smile and it's almost too much.

Arthur looks down to his shoes which are getting buried in sand. He scuffs his shoe at a stone again and nods. "I think if we just take things slow and not thrust me into things it would be better. I suppose I have… trust and control issues," he feels that his chest is a little lighter after he released the statement like it was bottled up inside him for a long time but it isn't even the whole truth and maybe not even half of it. Mal is still eyeing him, her face cool and impassive, studying him like she's the type of person that won't back down and Arthur knows this somehow. She nods after a time and looks out to the ocean.

"I understand. I apologize if I threw you into this too soon. We'll take things nice and slow. You can even go under by yourself to create the dreamscape on your own if you like, to get used to it." Mal closes her eyes and inhales deeply. "Soon it will come so easily to you it'll be just like breathing in air," she opens her brilliant eyes and motions with her head towards down the beach. "Are you ready to keep going?" she smiles. Arthur nods and they continue down the beach. Mal explains as they walk that they are in the simplest and rawest form of dreamscape.

"Rawest form? So it gets more detailed?"

Mal smiles a little and kicks up sand with her shoes almost losing her shoe completely. "Yes, that's where Russell comes in. Like I said we're still learning and experimenting with how to manipulate the dreamscape but Russell is our acting architect as we call him. He helped my father and I run some experiments back in Oxford and he's wanted to help ever since."

Arthur remembers trying to ask the elusive Russell about being an architect back when they were in the van together.

"What does an architect do exactly?" He thinks it might be obvious but with dream sharing the rules seem to go out the window since they're not dealing with fundamental physics and reality.

"An architect constructs the dream for the dreamer. Right now we're still experimenting with it but it proves to be useful if Russell constructs a dream from something that none of us knows about and we have to try to find our way out. It's fun. We'll show you sometime when you're ready."

"But why construct the dream? Couldn't you just build it as you're in it? I did a little constructing back at Fort Irwin for the training exercise for the military. Both me and the Sergeant came up with the plans but we ultimately entered my dream. What do you hope to accomplish? You're not raising an army are you?" His question is legitimate but she breaks out in laughter and covers her mouth, an apology on her face when she notices that Arthur was being serious.

"Oh no, dear. Right now we're using the dream sharing machine to connect people to one another kind of like how the internet did. We're still pushing the limits of its powers and we're still developing it especially the drugs that are used alongside of it. Once we develop it enough I hope it can bring people together and help them," she dangles a shoe off her toe and smiles like she doesn't have a care in the world. Arthur is envious of that feeling. Arthur knows the side effects of Somnicol all too well. It's something he rather not relive ever again.

"The worlds we create in our minds. We can be anyone, do anything, go anywhere," she closes her eyes, slipping off her shoes and she slowly walks until the gentle tide hits her feet. She smiles. "I think that's why I dream and build worlds of real things for the time being," the tide rolls in and laps at her porcelain skin, sand burying her toes slightly and she laughs a little. "I'm a little afraid of dreaming too impossible things and not wanting to come back," she cranes her neck up and raises her face to the sky, opening her eyes.

And then Arthur is opening his eyes to the unfamiliar ceiling full of artificial lighting, catwalks and beams, old broken windows and dusty corners. His vision swims and blurs and he feels very sick. He hears voices but all he can do is lean over to his side so his face is close to the floor and deposit his stomach and then he doesn't remember anything at all as black dots swim and dance in front of his eyes.

He opens his eyes again but this time to a bright and airy space. His eyes adjust to the light that's coming in from the solitary window. His head throbs in pain and he turns his head on the pillow to the direction of the light and trains his painful eyes to the window. The thin, translucent curtains are fluttering a little and cool air is wafting in. His body hurts as he tests it and explores it under the blanket as he lies on the twin size bed. His head feels fuzzy and he overall feels a bit weak and off like he had a bad hangover or the flu. He tries to sit up but his head swims and dizziness washes over him. He lies back down with a soft PLOP as his head hits the pillows. He rubs at his eyes and face and he thinks he might have dozed off again but jerks awake when he hears a gentle knocking at the door. Mr. Cobb peeks his face into the slightly open door. He looks hesitant and his eyes are softened into concern. "Did I wake you?" Arthur shakes his head which brings on fresh pain like a lighting flash across his temple.

Mr. Cobb opens the door the rest of the way, crosses the room and grabs the solitary chair in the room, dragging it over to the side of the small bed. He sits, hands clasped in his lap and he smiles weakly at Arthur. "I would ask you how you feel but I know you feel like shit," he smiles almost sheepishly or in an apology and looks down at his hands which he's knotting together.

"How is she?" Arthur's voice cracks and sounds paper thin. He wonders how long he's been sleeping. Mr. Cobb wipes at his face slowly and Arthur inspects him as Mr. Cobb is a little closer. There are deep bags under his eyes, his eyelids looking darker than usual and there's at least a day's worth of stubble donning his normally clean face. His clothes look rumpled and slept in. He looks exhausted.

"She's recovering as well," Mr. Cobb's smile and voice are very thin and stretched and there's a sadness there. Arthur wonders if he's blaming himself. Mr. Cobb exhales deeply, runs a hand over his scratchy face and rests his bleary eyes on Arthur. "We really need to perfect a different drug," he sighs angrily. "I tried to warn her but she looked so excited about going under after not being able to for so long," he shifts in his seat, his hands clasped together so tight that his knuckles are turning white from the pressure. "It's my fault and I'm sorry. I should have put my foot down but when it comes to her…" He looks about the room seeming lost in his own head. He rests his gaze back on Arthur after a few heartbeats. "Well anyway. If you need anything let me know. We're at Mal's house. I think she wanted you to stay here actually," a little smile tugs at the corners of Mr. Cobb's sunken in face. "You probably don't want to now but the offer still stands," he shrugs. Arthur searches Mr. Cobb's saddened, bloodshot eyes and he isn't sure what he wants to say. His head is still throbbing, he feels tired even though he probably has been sleeping for days and all he wants to do is go back into the dream again. He thinks he knows exactly how Mal was feeling when she could go under again after so long.

"You can think on it. Just get some rest," Mr. Cobb leans over and squeezes Arthur's shoulder and Arthur watches him with slight horror on his face and then he's closing his eyes involuntarily, his body reacting strangely to the unwanted and unexpected touch. Mr. Cobb must have mistaken Arthur's reaction to the touch for sleep because suddenly he hears a door being shut and Arthur is alone. He has a lot to think about mainly about when he'll feel better enough and when a new drug will be ready so he can go under again. Sleep does find him eventually and when he wakes again it's to Mal sitting on the edge of the small bed and for some reason it doesn't startle Arthur. She's looking out the window but when Arthur shifts a little under the blanket she rests her eyes on him and smiles sweetly. Her face looks ashy, her normal glowing skin looks dull and her usual vibrant and curly hair is flat and lifeless looking like it's been slept in. "How are you, dear?" Her voice is a little hoarse and Arthur realizes that she's still not one hundred percent herself. She must still be recovering from the Somnicol sickness. Arthur tests himself and tries sitting up. He feels a little bit better but still not strong. His body feels too heavy and his head is still throbbing. "I'm ok," he lies. "You should be resting too."

Mal waves the instruction from Arthur away continuing to smile brightly like she's putting on a brave face and not really letting on how weak she is. Arthur thinks it's brave but stupid. She pivots on the bed and turns more towards Arthur. Her face is ashy and her eyes look very tired. "I have to let my boyfriend get some rest. He can't be watching the two of us round the clock now can he?" Arthur can only blink and swallow hugely at her. "How long have we…?" Mal smiles and it looks like it takes a lot of energy for her to do so. "About four days now," she laughs a little and it's not her normal light, sing song laugh. It sounds paper thin and raspy. "I told you I was a little selfish. I think Dom was trying to warn me about the Somnicol before we went under as we were prepping but I wasn't having any of it," she laughs a little. "I can be a stubborn woman," she winks. She smoothes the blanket at the foot of the bed and regards Arthur. "I'm sorry, cher. Dear I mean," she laughs and smiles weakly looking exhausted. "Do you forgive me?" her big eyes are full of tenderness and apology and Arthur finds himself nodding.

"You're welcome to stay here," she motions around the small room. "I think after our little episode though I think you'll want to get out of the house, no?" Arthur looks to the solitary window and can see swatches and little glimpses of the busy Paris streets below. "I've never been to Paris."

"C'est la meilleure ville du monde. Ou peut-être la plus belle?" Mal chuckles a little, the laugh becoming a cough. "I'll show you when we…when we recover. You'll fall in love," her tired eyes crinkle at the corners and she smiles a knowing smile. What Mal meant by "fall in love" Arthur isn't sure. He doesn't know if she meant with the city or actually fall in love with someone. He hopes she meant the former. They sit for a time looking out the window and at the city that neither of them can explore right now, too bogged down by sickness and their tired bodies. There's a vase full of tulips resting on top of the small desk that's pushed into a corner of the room. They talk and Arthur finds that he quite enjoys her. She's easy to get along with, is genuine and is almost devastatingly kind. When you speak she always gives you her undivided attention and her big eyes always seem to cut through you like she's looking into the very core of you. She's a solid presence and he's reminded of feeling he's being sucked into her vortex like a ship being hurled into a whirlpool. He met someone else like that once but he was long gone now.

She recovers quicker than him and visits Arthur every day. She sits at the foot of the small bed and brings him food. She peels and feeds him oranges and she'll talk about her life in Paris or tells him stories because she's learning that Arthur doesn't talk about himself. She doesn't push it and Arthur is very grateful for that. She licks orange slice juice off her fingers, her face vibrant, her skin glowing again and she tells him of when she first met Dom and how she hated him at first. She laughs but she always gets that same look in her eye when she speaks of him like she's letting everyone in on a deep secret. They're so blissfully in love that it's almost blinding and Arthur again is reminded that he's never felt anything like that before and probably never will. He thought his parents had it but his mother was so damaged and his father was away too much. Letting people in was too hard anyway. But Mal was worming her way in and Arthur wasn't really aware it was happening like she had cast a spell over him and "his room" as Mal and Mr. Cobb were affectionately calling it.

When Arthur feels stronger Mal waits for him patiently at the foot of the old stairs rocking back and forth on her heels, hands behind her back and a sweet smile on her face. They walk the Paris streets. Mal takes him shopping, fussing that he needs a warmer coat especially since they were near the river. She helps pick one out for him. They walk the narrow crowded streets and Mal takes him to all the little intimate places that she likes-a corner pastry shop that sells the best pot de crème, her favorite bridge that she likes to stop at to watch the boats pass below them on the Seine. They stop in market squares and watch tourists bustle back and forth, pigeons gathering and scattering like an endless loop, the sun setting and bathing everything in a warm, golden glow. They walk to the Eiffel Tower at night. They pass fountains that are lit up and seem to shoot up straight to the starry sky. They walk until he's staring up at the wondrous tower and Arthur thinks it's probably one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen. He feels his eyes widening impossibly at the sight. It lit up like a beacon to the heavens is like a touch on his heart.

Mal shoots him a sideways glance, a smile playing on her full lips as she watches him act in total awe. "You're in love now." Arthur can only nod faintly and blink up at the marvelous sight. "It must be a dream," he whispers almost to himself and Mal only smiles more widely beside him. They walk back along the Seine and its like Arthur is seeing it for the first time. Its glassy obsidian surface is full and dancing with light reflected from the city's brilliance. There are a million stars out and the air is crisp and calm. Arthur's eyes search the sky for it and find it like it was hiding. The crescent moon is like a tease and Arthur's heart throbs as he remembers how many more days until the next black moon. Mal eyes him curiously but she doesn't comment like she's filing things away. Arthur is filing away things too. He wants to be able to remember how the Paris skyline looks at night, how it holds so much promise and truth, how the Seine looks magical with the lights of the city reflected into it and how the moon's glow is bathing everything.

Arthur finds himself wanting to stay with Mal and Mr. Cobb. He knows he's perfectly capable of staying in a hotel or renting an apartment himself. He isn't a child or doesn't need to depend on these people but it's something in Mal's eyes-so warm, comforting and, Arthur must admit, trusting. He hadn't felt something like that in a very long time maybe not since Mr. Henry or since meeting Dr. Trollsund. Mal is delighted with his decision and he can see it in her eyes that she wants to embrace him. Arthur is picking up on people's body language more and more when they feel the need to touch him. He's getting better at recognizing and anticipating the signs. Mal thankfully doesn't and again Arthur can't help but feel a little embarrassed mixed with his relief like he had done something wrong.

Mal fixes up the small bedroom upstairs for him which is officially deemed: "Arthur's room." Even Mr. Cobb smiles warmly when Mal fusses over the comforter and quilt that Arthur should have. Arthur is free to decorate it as he sees fit but Arthur had never had a space all to his own before and doesn't really own anything so he keeps it simple. His only decoration in the room is a vase full of tulips that Mal keeps fresh for him, his dog tags that he rests beside the vase and his wallet.

He gets used to living with the two of them. He gets used to simply being called: "Arthur" again after what felt like a lifetime of being called by his military rank but mainly he tries to get used to living a life without a regimented routine or strict schedule which is the hardest to get used to. He feels like he's sitting on his hands and Arthur likes to stay busy. They have to find a new chemist and develop a new drug before anyone can go under again so it's a waiting game. Mal tells Arthur to: "Treat it like a vacation of sorts," but Arthur has never had a vacation and wouldn't know what to do with himself if he was supposed to take one so he doesn't. He pesters Mr. Cobb for their data logs, their case studies, their documentation on their experiments, anything that Arthur can research because he feels he may go out of his mind insane if he can't focus on something.

"Arthur, you're going to have to start calling me Dom eventually. Mr. Cobb was my father," he eyes him intently and Arthur finally gives in and nods and promises he'll work on it. He would tell Mr. Cobb, err Dom, anything to be able to keep his strict mind occupied with something, something he can throw himself into. Dom eventually rolls his eyes and gives Arthur the case studies and their documents on the dream sharing. Arthur spends many a sleepless night pouring over the materials, not getting up from his desk in his room until he feels he's satisfied some deep urge, his mind not resting until he feels he's gotten some sort of a grip on the material. It's like he's back at the military academy and how he would spend endless hours pouring over his work not thinking it was good enough and thinking something bad would happen if he didn't perfect it. He rifles through the many papers and documents until his eyes are bleary and sore, his head buzzing and his back aching and he knows its OCD behavior but somehow it comforts him in the unfamiliar setting. He doesn't understand half of the scientific equations or vernacular that Professor Miles had documented in his reports and notes but Arthur reads them over and over again anyway, pushing the words in, trying to make himself understand thinking that if he didn't that something bad would happen to someone.

Mal has to drag him away from the files and papers many a time, shoving plates of food in his hands, telling him sternly to shower and take a walk outside every once in a while. During the day Dom and Mal would research or hunt for chemists or travel to visit Miles to consult with him. Arthur was again told he was on "vacation" because they didn't have any work for him yet as experiments were on hold until they could develop or acquire a better drug for the dream sharing machine. A couple weeks pass and Mal comes into Arthur's room with new tulips and asks Arthur if he'd like to join Dom and her to visit Miles at Oxford as Miles wants to meet him. Arthur feels a strange stirring in his chest upon hearing that he's been requested like he's going to see the Wizard of Oz. He tries to hide his excitement and nervousness as they ready to leave for the train station.

Professor Stephen Miles' office is small, cramped, smells slightly of dust and is littered with boxes. Professor Miles is much like his daughter with inquisitive, warm eyes that grab and hold your attention. He has an aura about him that oozes intelligence, quiet humor and grace. His movements are deliberate and thoughtful and Arthur feels strangely calm being around him like just his presence is enough to calm his nerves and placate him. Arthur is surprised to find he's British. He assumed he would have been French as well like his daughter. Miles seems very at peace with everything and the attitude is catching Arthur finds. Mal and Dom embrace him when they arrive. Arthur hangs back and observes the tender reunion and looks about his small office. Dom calls him over and he introduces Arthur to Professor Miles. Miles smiles, his wrinkles smoothing and the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his glasses when he shakes Arthur's hand. His touch is cool and light. "You must pardon my mess. I'm packing though I never really used this office much anyway," he shrugs a little and chuckles revealing yellowing crooked teeth. Miles gestures to a chair and after Arthur takes it he blinks at the Professor curiously. "Packing?" Mal and Dom level their careful gazes on Arthur and Miles nods. "I suppose they didn't tell you. I'm leaving Oxford. I accepted a job at École des Beaux-Arts so I can be closer to my brainchild and more importantly my family." Miles smiles, clasping his hands together and holding them close under his chin. "Which apparently is growing now," and he shoots Arthur a warm, thoughtful look. Arthur feels strangely at home with the look but squirms a little in his seat under his direct powerful gaze. The Professor looks to Mal sitting next to him. "Sweetheart would you be a dear and get your old decrepit father a tea please?" Mal smiles at him, her whole face lighting up. She nods and gets up from her chair. "Take Dom with you would you? He hasn't seen the campus in a while," and Miles winks at Arthur. Dom shoots Miles a puzzled look and Miles meets his gaze coolly, challenging him and chuckles. "That means I'm trying to talk to Mr. Marek alone if you didn't catch my subtle hint." Dom's face breaks out in a sloppy grin, a slight blush of embarrassment creeping up on his cheeks and he nods and rises from his chair. He meets his girlfriend at the doorway. They interlock fingers and close Miles' door behind them as they go.

Arthur immediately feels a bit on edge after the door closes. No one told him he was going to have a private one-on-one conversation with the Professor. Miles sits back in his chair in relaxation and steeples his hands together under his chin observing Arthur like he's a rare species.

"I wanted to thank you personally for what you did. You helped Dom secure the device and I know all about what you had to leave behind and I know it wasn't easy," his weathered, faded blue eyes search Arthur's face and Arthur isn't sure if he's supposed to say something. Of course it wasn't easy for him to leave everything behind, pack up and leave with a man he barely knew and trusted but he did it and he still wasn't one hundred percent sure why he did. The prospect of the dream sharing intrigued him and he still very much wanted to know more about his father, possibly have him notice him and above all else forgive him. If he did what his father wanted maybe it would earn him back his trust and possibly love. Arthur finds himself clasping his hands together between his open legs, his head slightly bent and trained to the floor and he nods.

"You have no idea how much it means to me, truly. And I meant what I said. You're family now. Anything you need you just ask."

Arthur can only train his eyes to the beaten up, scuffed wooden floor that seems to own a lot of history. He takes a deep slow breath and nods again.

"I can sense you're still scared and uncertain and I get that." Arthur's eyes snap up to the Professor's face and Miles is leaning back into his chair regarding Arthur solemnly. "You were thrust into this and," he chuckles. "You have no idea what's going on or in store for you," he chuckles lightly and pinches at his eyes behind his glasses. "I don't mean to laugh but I can understand how you're feeling. When I created the device I felt the same way. I felt much like Alice tumbling down a rabbit hole never knowing where I would turn up."

Arthur twists his hands that are clasped together between his legs and scuffs his shoe across the ancient floor. He nods again.

"I see a lot of myself in you," the Professor sighs, a slight frown on his face. "You're searching for someone and I know how that is too," Arthur searches his aged face and the Professor smiles weakly. "I've been searching since I was twelve years old," his weathered blue eyes scan his small office and Arthur finds himself leaning forward in his chair. Miles clears his throat and he straightens up in his chair, leaning forward a little in his seat as well. "I created the device for selfish reasons. Did that ever come up in the research and documents Dom gave you? Did Dom even mention it?" Miles smiles faintly again like he already knows the answer and Arthur can only blink at him. "No, I suppose he didn't," Miles chuckles. "I don't think Dom is aware of my flaws anymore. Maybe he never was. When he's possessed with an idea everything else seems to dissolve away with him. His convictions and passion is strong but sometimes he misses the little details," the Professor smiles and regards Arthur.

"Maybe you ought to hear my story and let yourself decide if you truthfully want to do this? I think it's only fair that you know everything before you…" the Professor pauses and furrows his brow like he's trying to think of what he wants to say. He levels his gaze on Arthur after a few heartbeats. "continue down the rabbit hole so to speak. Not to say that you can never leave but it surely makes things more complicated especially since what we're dealing with is secretive and not exactly legal now in a certain sense."

No one had ever given him a choice and Arthur feels strange after hearing Miles' offer. Miles was giving him an out, a "speak now or forever hold your piece" type of offering. Arthur doesn't know if he feels better knowing he can leave if he wants but where would he go? He went AWOL from the military blowing that career path. He had stolen a top secret device from the said military and had run away with it to another country. What was he supposed to do now? He was given a choice but really his only choice was to keep going, going further, tumbling into the unknown and hoping he would land on both feet.

With his decision made he regards the Professor carefully. "I'd like to hear your story." Even though he knows he isn't going anywhere he still wants to know why Miles thinks he developed the device for selfish reasons and who he was searching for as his quest hits close to home with Arthur.

Miles nods thoughtfully; his enclosed hands resting slightly over his lips in a contemplative way that Arthur imagines he doesn't even realize he's even doing it.

"My mum died when I was twelve years old. I came from a very religious and strict household. My mum took her own life. According to my father that meant she secured her own place in the deepest, darkest areas of hell." There's a pregnant pause and Arthur again finds himself leaning towards the Professor in his chair, his eyes going wide as his story is already mirroring his own in some ways.

Miles laughs under his breath bitterly, a non believing look on his face. "According to our father she wasn't allowed to be in our lives anymore after she took her life. In a fit of rage he burned all her possessions and all traces of her including any and all pictures of her like he was burning her out of our lives completely," he shakes his head and takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Not to get into specifics and really it's too horrible to relive but he did things to my siblings and I, traumatizing us so we would forget her. This set up our hatred for our father as well and my two older siblings moved out of the house as soon as they could, thankful to be away from him. I was too when I turned eighteen and left home. We all scattered like birds, fleeing from our torturous past, all landing in different areas of the country." Arthur feels his heart getting heavier and feels it as it pounds painfully in his chest. Miles' story, his past is a total train wreck and Arthur feels sympathy but also intrigue at his sorrowed tale.

"When I was finally free of him, finally free to live on my own and experience the world and I was finally allowed to think of her I couldn't," Miles looks down to his large, weathered hands resting in his lap neatly and laughs bitterly. "My father had successfully burned her from my mind. I would lie in my bed some nights and I would have strange dreams and I would wake up with this feeling that I cannot describe. I know my mind was trying to conjure her up, to remember her and I would swear I saw her but I could never remember it fully after I woke. I…" and Miles' voice is strained and he shakes his head a little, looking about the room with a pained expression on his face and Arthur knows that look. He knew it all too well from trying to run away from his past and what he did to his own mother and wanting to run back to his own father for forgiveness. It was a look of total bewilderment, abandonment and betrayal mixed with grief and hatred. A minute or so passes and Miles seems to compose himself again. "I couldn't remember her face," and Miles closes his eyes, his face looking ashy. "Even now I cannot remember what my own mum looks like. I was twelve years old and I should still be able to see her…" Miles blinks his eyes open, his stony face looking irreparably sad. "But I cannot," he smiles weakly. He inhales deeply through his nose and Arthur think he looks so much older now like reliving the tale was taking years off his life.

"I had to see her again. You can't even imagine how frustrating and saddening is to not be able to remember what your own mum looks like. It's like a crime, like something was stolen from me and really it was. I loved my mum very much and she punished herself, put her children and husband before her own needs and didn't seek help for her depression," he smiles sadly, his eyes looking faraway. "It was the forties and you didn't admit you had problems back then. To show weakness was a great dishonor not only to you but your family as well. To her God was the only one that could help her and death was the only answer to be truly free," he waves a hand dismissively in front of his face like he's waving the memory away. "But I'm getting off track, forgive me. My desire to see her face again was all consuming. My siblings were a bit older than me and I reasoned that they would still remember her and her face because they had more memories of her. I tried to get them to talk about her, to describe her but we had become estranged. We hadn't seen each other for several years and they were becoming strangers to me. They were more than willing to forget the past and just focus on future. They didn't want to talk about her and it could be because our father had erased the memory from them too or because they still had some of those religious notions from our upbringing and didn't want to talk about the heathen that took her own life," Miles shrugs and his craggy face looks tired.

"Whatever the reason they refused and I was left feeling incredibly bitter and even more consumed with the idea that I had to see her. I couldn't let it be a memory forgotten. I had to see her one more time. So I threw myself into schoolwork and my studies. I graduated and got my degree in psychology but it wasn't enough. I felt so much unrest and inner turmoil back then. I was very young and had to understand everything. I had to devour everything and anything that I could get my hands on to be able to recreate her," Miles shakes his head and chuckles to himself. He eyes Arthur after a moment. "What do you think of that? Scary isn't it how the mind of a possessed person thinks, hmm?" Arthur can only regard him wide eyed and nod a little. He knew all too well how obsessions work and he swallows hugely, a lump forming at his throat.

"My colleagues thought I was quite mad. I was spending all hours in the library or staying up late researching things they didn't think I ever would understand," he points to his head with his index finger. "Try telling my obsessed brain that it was crazy. I entered my masters program for architecture but I was interested in so many things. Again my colleagues thought I was crazy wasting my time with architecture since I was very good at math and chemistry. I excelled in engineering and physics but…I loved to build things and I was stubborn. I think the more people told me not to do something I only wanted to do it more," he laughs lightly.

"My father died right before I earned my masters. All of us, my siblings and I are, were reunited again for the first time in several years. I took that opportunity to try to reason with them and get them to open up and share about our mum. My oldest sister Phillipa would only bicker with me and my older brother Alan would close up and only murmur prayers under his breath like he was totally brainwashed. I told myself if only I could have connected myself to their closed off brains somehow and suddenly this strange, incredible idea took over me as we were watching my father's casket being lowered into the ground. What if I was able to go into my siblings memories? The only ones that still seemed to remember my mum? It was crazy but again," Miles taps at his head with his index finger. "Try telling my brain that. I was consumed with new ideas and purpose and again I threw myself into my research and work in my spare time. In 1972 after I earned my masters and was teaching at Oxford I started working on my crazy idea. Somehow people were pulled into my craziness and gravitated towards me and I'm still not sure how or why even to this day. Maybe it was the passion I showed or maybe they just felt sorry for me? Whatever the reason my two colleagues and I shared a small lab in the basement of Oxford and in between teaching I developed the idea and they helped me execute the trials. Now through all this I had basically zero social life as you can imagine. I was all consumed with work and research," he smiles and it lights up his face making him look younger again.

"I met Marie in 1973. She was working as a secretary in the Dean's office," Miles whistles. "She was the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen. Prettiest eyes and face, legs that went on for days and she was French! God, I just wanted to lean on her desk and listen to her speak as she answered the phone all day," Miles chuckles a little. "Any excuse to go to the Dean's office I would. She of course caught on to my lame flirting attempts eventually," he sighs heavily and there's a faraway look in his eye again. "I don't know what she saw in me. I was some half crazed lunatic that spent all his time in the dark basement lab like some nutter talking about nonsense about sharing memories through a device," he laughs a hearty laugh. "But she saw something in me and she truly made my world beautiful to live in. She quieted my overzealous and overworked brain. She settled me," he nods a little in remembrance. "We were hot and heavy from the get go and I just knew she was the one. We married in '74 and everything was kind of a whirlwind. Everything was happening very fast. My colleagues and I were making breakthroughs with the device we were building and Marie and I were expecting our first child by the end of '74," Miles stops, smiles a toothy grin and regards Arthur. "Mallorie was born in September of '75 and it should have been the happiest day of my life and in a way it was but we made major head way with the drug we were developing that went along with the device that same week and I was just riding this feeling. I told you I was selfish," he eyes Arthur and Arthur can only blink at him with saddened eyes. Arthur had an idea of where this story was heading.

"Marie agreed to be a stay at home mum as I was just too busy with my teaching and my outside work. We would argue all the time when I was home which was infrequently. 'I was putting my family on the backburner, I didn't even know my own daughter, and all I thought about was my work'. And this was all true but of course I couldn't admit it at the time. I was so close to my dream of seeing my mum again and nothing was going to stand in my way not even my family," Miles sighs deeply and closes his eyes. "And I didn't really know my own daughter then and that to me is my hugest regret," he opens his eyes and smiles weakly. "We divorced in '78. Marie fought to get full custody," Miles sighs deeply, more pained this time. "She was granted it because the court saw me as an ill suited father who was too involved in his work. They left me and I deserved it. It was a bad time for me after that and I would be kidding myself if I didn't think from time to time back then that I should take my own life and just hope I see my mum again that way instead, deeming everything as 'too hard'," he sighs again. "But I carried on somehow. The development of the device was my only real outlet, my only real thing. In 1993 I got the surprise of my life. My daughter, being curious about the father that she didn't really know, sought me out unbeknownst to her mum. She was just like me at that age. She was eighteen and ready to fly the coop, stretch her wings and experience things. I was given a second chance with her," he smiles hugely. "I'm not a religious person, I gave that up when I was twelve but I thank whoever is up there everyday for giving me a second chance to know my daughter. We developed a relationship slowly after that over the years mostly in secret from her mum, building up what we had lost," he smiles and Arthur swears he sees the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

"She stumbled upon my research in my office one day, going over my things when I wasn't there. I wanted to be cross with her but the look on her face was so eager and full of passion. She was immensely interested and I found myself telling her everything," Miles shrugs looking bewildered and guilty. "How could I not? She was my daughter, my only child and I thought I had lost her. I always imagined having a large family but after Marie left and took Mal I knew it was never in the cards for me. I only had Mal and if she wanted to know me and what I was working on I wanted to share it with her. I didn't want to hold anything back from her or deny her anything anymore. She started working with me in the lab and by that time her mum, my ex wife, found out. Marie felt betrayed of course and Marie and I really didn't have much of a relationship at all before that point but it forced us to talk. I argued with her that Mal was an adult and could choose her own life but Marie kept accusing me of brainwashing her," Miles shakes his head glumly. "It was an uphill battle but in the end Marie knew she couldn't keep Mal from doing it and Mal was a lot like me. If someone told her she couldn't do something she would just want to do it more. So we worked together while she took classes at Oxford. She helped me immensely as I'm getting to be quite an old man now and although I used to be able to stay up all night and do research and run around like crazy I can't anymore. My mind is still quick but my body isn't," he laughs.

"I met Dom three years ago. He was a student of mine when he was taking an introductory architecture course. He was going to school for engineering after leaving his military career though," Miles leans in close to Arthur and motions for Arthur to come closer. Arthur leans in hesitantly. "I'll let you in on a little secret." Arthur's eyes go wide and he swallows and nods deeply. "I think Dom wanted to go to Oxford because he knew his father had gone here. I don't think he graduated but he attended. Dom will never admit it of course but he didn't choose Oxford on a whim," Miles shrugs a little. "I guess Dom doesn't have the best relationship with his father either and we bonded on that though he never really speaks of him though I've tried," Miles' eyes crinkle a little at the corners. "I took to him as we both were little lost souls, men that fell off the path. What started as a friendly student teacher companionship turned to real friendship," Miles smiles and he looks very much alive.

"I found myself telling Dom about my research one night over good wine," Miles laughs. "I swear that boy knows all my guilty pleasures. He was very interested in it right off the bat just like my daughter and wanting to be a lab assistant but I refused. I already didn't like that my daughter was doing test trials on the device and drugs and I didn't want to rope in any more young blood. But he was very insistent and there was a fire in his eyes and this passion emanating from him that told me that he wouldn't let go," Miles shakes his head a little. "I think Dom is keeping something to himself about what his true reasons for getting involved are and maybe it has to do with his father. I'm not sure," he shrugs with a: "what are you going to do?" type look. "He met my daughter and of course took to her right away. I again refused. I love Dom dearly but he is an overzealous, cocky American who wanted to play the hero," Miles chuckles. "Essentially he was acting like me all those years ago and being the protective father that I am I told him to back off. Mal didn't like him right away anyway saying he was too obsessed and she didn't like arrogant Americans," Miles smiles and Arthur finds himself smiling a little too. Miles shrugs. "They're inseparable. I don't think they even know how it happened," he chuckles. "One day she hates him and Dom's respecting my wishes and then the next day they're madly in love and Mal is bursting into my office saying that I better not get in the way," he shrugs, smiling sheepishly. "And I don't anymore because again I can't deny her after not being in her life for so long and really I do adore Dom. He's the son I never had but he just needs someone to help him see all the little things, the little details," Miles regards Arthur coolly. Arthur finds himself nodding and absorbing Miles words.

"Our breakthrough came after a year of all of us working together as a team. The Somnicol worked successfully enough with the device. We were able to enter each other's dreams but not memories," there's a queer smile on Miles face, somewhere between a grimace and a pleasantry. "Memories can be in dreams but we weren't able to separate the two and just enter strictly a memory which means I won't be able to enter one of my sibling's minds for a memory of my mum. Not that they really would have allowed me anyway but…," he scratches the back of his head and frowns. "I was extremely pleased with the success though. I had spent so much time, energy, money, etcetera on the device and it was finally successful. Just not in the way I had truly hoped. I had spent more than twenty years of my life perfecting it and I still cannot do exactly what I want with it," he rubs at his chin and looks forlorn. "Well, and you know pretty much the rest I'm sure. Dom probably told you. Last year, after the success of the dream sharing machine caught wind and Oxford was going to fund me to develop it further the military swooped in and took it from us. I just had it and it was just as quickly taken away. We were all devastated but I think it hit Dom the hardest. He wouldn't give up even when all seemed lost," Miles smiles like he knows a secret. " Dom quit school though I protested since he was so close to graduating though he insists he'll go back," Miles rolls his eyes deeply. "He used his prior excellent work with the military to give him leverage and he knew people that could get him into a government job. I don't really agree with all the tactics he used or how he went about it as it wasn't all legal but he was able to get into the Pentagon and then it was just a matter of time when the dream sharing device was shuffled around in the UK and then finally the US," Miles closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes and they are bright and shining. "I am very happy to have it back as it obviously needs to be further honed as most people are having negative reactions to the Somnicol," Miles shakes his head. "I'm not sure why. We'll have to do further testing or just start from scratch and try to develop a different drug," Miles scratches his balding head looking a little glum. He eyes Arthur after a while. "And that's my story. So, knowing all that and my true reasons for wanting to keep developing the device do you still want to be aboard this ship so to speak?"

Arthur twists his hands in his lap and bites his lip. He shrugs a little after a time.

"I do. I just have a couple questions."

Miles nods faintly, looking solemn. He gestures to Arthur to continue.

"You say you can't separate dreams from memories? But memories can happen in dreams right? So are you developing the technology further in hopes that you're able to share or experience a memory with someone or…?" Arthur still feels a little lost but the idea is intriguing all the same. Arthur somehow feels it's probably possible to share memories with others but how to really convey that in a dream probably would be tricky. They would probably have to be very profound or powerful memories.

The Professor rubs at his chin thoughtfully and nods. He flashes a toothy grin after a moment. "You're very perceptive and I can tell you like to have all the details straight," Miles winks. "A man after my own heart," he leans towards Arthur and seems to think about what he wants to say like he's choosing his words carefully. "Dreams are fascinating. Wouldn't you agree?" Arthur nods in agreement. "In dreams you can conjure up anything and everything," Miles spreads his arms out wide to elaborate. "And we've done it. At least in the truest, simplest sense we're able to connect people and share dreams, go into their minds," Miles folds his hands in his lap neatly again. "But it isn't enough. It's too simple at least for me," he sighs deeply. "I love that we developed it but I'm a selfish old man," he laughs. "I need to be able to share memories, connect with others on the past too, to share things that have already happened."

"Is it possible?" Arthur finds himself asking and he almost regrets it the minute it leaves his mouth. He doesn't want to frustrate or sadden the Professor further.

Thankfully Miles just smiles thoughtfully. "No, it's perfectly possible. It's just bloody difficult," he chuckles a little. "I've tried for twenty years and we're only able to just share dreams," he bounces his knee a little anxiously. "If only there was a way to truly manipulate the dream to be able to withdraw information somehow or change it the way you needed it. And we are able to do that in a sense but when it comes to memories…" he waves a hand in front of his face in a dismissive gesture. "Well, Dom and my daughter are enamored with the dreams and are perfectly content on just developing that and I should be satisfied with that as well," he crosses his arms and looks about the small office.

"Do they know? About why you developed the device I mean and what you hope to accomplish?"

The Professor smiles at him sadly and that's all the answer Arthur needs. "Like I said you and I are similar in that we're both searching for someone. I haven't found her yet and I do hope you find your father. Would you expect anyone to understand your desire?" Miles searches Arthur's face deeply and Arthur shifts in his seat uncomfortably from the heavy gaze and feels confused as to how the Professor knows he's looking for his father. He shakes his head after a time. "No, I wouldn't." Miles nods at him a little looking contemplative.

"They know a little of why and how I got interested in it and how I'd like to be able to go into memories but not what I'm searching for or what I want to do," he sighs. "They think, just like everyone else, that I'm just content with the dreams. You have to understand I love them both very much and I want them to be happy. I hope they get married and have lots of children," he chuckles. "At least I'll be able to spoil my grandchildren like the way I would have liked to have spoiled Mal. I don't tell them everything because I don't want to crush their spirits or that passion they have and I don't want to deny Mal anything anymore. She's very happy and I don't want to make her unhappy ever again. Like I said they are very enamored with the dream sharing," Miles shrugs and flashes Arthur a toothy grin. "And who knows maybe I'll be able to learn from them and be able to be at peace with just developing the dream sharing." Miles eyes say differently and Arthur knows deep down that Miles will never be truly satisfied until he finds what he's looking for because Arthur feels the same. Arthur has a very strong urge to tell the Professor that he wants to help, a feeling sweeping over him. He also wants to tell him that they are the same in a lot of ways but he's interrupted by a knock on the door. Mal peeks her head in and smiles at them.

"Can we come in or do you need more time to sit and grill poor Arthur?" she laughs her sweet, sing song laugh. Miles rolls his eyes playfully but motions to her to come in. He chuckles a little. "No, we're done with the interview and lie detector test," he winks. Mal and Dom breeze in. Mal hands her father a steaming mug of tea and hands Arthur an equally steamy mug of black coffee, just the way he likes it. Arthur thanks her and the four of them talk and the three colleagues visit after a time and talk turns to work eventually. Arthur is mostly silent during those parts in the conversation but Miles shoots him knowing looks every once in a while like they share a secret because they really do and Arthur knows he'll keep it for him because they are very much the same. They're two men with deep dark secrets who are searching for someone that will absolve them of their sins.

Miles moves to Paris in an apartment that's close to Mal's house and they all help move all the equipment into Warehouse Six. They set up their lab and offices of sorts. Russell makes appearances and helps as well. Arthur still isn't sure how Russell fits into the equation of everything but the others know and trust him and Arthur keeps closed mouthed, keeps his head down and tries his best to keep up. The five of them work very well together and blessedly Arthur is given tasks to do to keep busy. The four former colleagues are all very excited to have the device back and Arthur tries to share in that excitement with them. The four of them get caught in deep discussion and debate about heavy things concerning the device and Arthur can't keep track of what they're talking about. He admits to himself he feels like the odd man out, the "new guy" but the others do include him and educate him as much as possible but there's a lot to learn as Mal had told him. It seems Miles' hints about keeping Dom on track and pointing out the "little things" were correct.

"I want you to be my point man." Dom and him are alone in the warehouse after a long, grueling day of research to find a new chemist and various other things regarding developing the device further.

Arthur knew what a point man was in the military. They were the first to lead and go into enemy or hostile territory. The point man was always the first to get shot. They were leaders and had to be incredibly brave. Arthur eyes Dom suspiciously thinking he misspoke. "Point man?"

Dom chuckles a little, his steely eyes flashing. "I guess it's an old military term but I thought we could identify with it more that way?" Dom shrugs. "I want you to be in charge of research and above all else to keep me in check and on track," he laughs a little. Arthur furrows his brow at him. "So you don't want me to go under?"

Dom waves his hands in front of his face. "No, no. I do but you have an important job besides that, we all do. Yours is just more detailed orientated and time consuming but from what I read about you at Fort Irwin you like detail and doing research." This was true though it could prove dangerous given what kind of mood he was in or if he felt stressed. His OCD could come out very easily. He had been able to keep it under wraps as of late thankfully. Arthur thinks of Dom and Miles and how they all are keeping secrets from one another. It was just one more to throw on the heap. Arthur nods at Dom.

"I know we're all doing research now but eventually when we get a hold of a chemist and develop the new version of the drug you'll be solely responsible for research as we're all going to have different tasks to focus on." Arthur nods again. "Do you accept it then?" Arthur opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He had always loved doing research on the background and origin of things, spending hours in the academy's library reading up on things he thought were interesting to keep his mind occupied but he still liked doing things as well. Arthur couldn't help feel afraid that by working behind the scenes he wouldn't be able to enter the dream anymore.

"Yes," Arthur says after a time. "But I want to go to school and I think you should finish too." The revelation startles Arthur and seems to startle Dom as well. He blinks at Arthur rapidly, a curious look broken out on his face. It was hard for Arthur to make decisions and figure out what he liked but he knew he wanted to go to college and he hoped he would be able to swing it while working with Dom and the others. He was always good at multitasking and he hoped it brought on a new routine for him to live by but knowing it would bring on new stress too which could trigger his OCD tenfold.

"Ok," Dom says sounding bewildered. "It's a deal," and Dom offers him his hand. Arthur stares at it. He doesn't like to shake hands if he didn't initiate it first. Arthur does take it after a while begrudgingly. The brief contact with Dom's skin makes Arthur flush and sends a jolt down his spine leaving him feeling tingly even after Dom releases his hand from him.

The first few months were a transition period. Not only for Arthur getting used to living in another country outside the US away from everything familiar, getting used to the unregimented lifestyle not full of control and order and being able to make decisions for himself. It was also a transition period for the team as well as they set up shop in Warehouse Six and had to learn to all work together and above all learn about each other.

Mal opened up to him very easily like she was an open book. Dom was willing to talk about some things but not others just as Miles had told Arthur there were some subjects with Dom that were off limits completely mainly about his father and parts of his military career and why he left to go to Oxford. Russell was a bit of a loose cannon and his moods varied widely. Some days he would be completely jovial and good humored with everyone except Arthur and other days he would barely utter a word to anyone and kept to himself. Russell was more prone to be snarky; sarcastic, cold and overall evasive about most things the more Arthur talked to him and tried to get to know him. Russell more or less never sought out Arthur exclusively for conversation nor talked to him unless spoken to first and although he was never outright cruel to him Arthur got a vibe that he resented Arthur somehow. The architect walked around with a chip on his shoulder and a grudge with the world and Arthur wondered if it was because the device was taken from them by the military and Arthur had worked for the said military? It was the only thing that Arthur could think of as to why Russell would feel some animosity towards him. Despite the awkward feelings or grudges they were able to push their differences aside when it came to work.

They had to keep a low profile. Dom, Russell and Arthur had all worked together to steal a top secret device from the military and Arthur and Dom had gone AWOL from their jobs. They all assumed that the three of them were probably seen as possible culprits, the feds piecing things together. They knew their faces were probably showing up in federal databases and airports for "No fly" listings. They would have to bunker down and sit tight. All of them used aliases and fake identities for everything with the exception of Miles who didn't commit any crimes and still had his legal job.

"You're going to have to change your name."

All of them were working in their respective spaces in the warehouse. Arthur had his own small office in one of the rooms off shooting from the main warehouse space. They had found an old desk when Dom and Arthur had gone to a dump. They brought it back and Arthur took great pride and care in cleaning it and re-finishing it. He never had something like that to call his own and although it still leaned a little because one of the legs was shorter than the others and it had a faint, unpleasant odor Arthur still loved it. There was a table and workspace in the main portion of the warehouse where he could have spent time doing his research in the airy space but he liked knowing he had his own "office" as well.

Arthur peers at Dom leaning up against the door frame of his office and blinks at him.

"I mean you have a fake passport but for everything else you're going to have to change it," Dom smiles a little a sloppily. "You'll still be Arthur but…" he trails off like Arthur knows exactly what he means.

"I have to change it legally?"

Dom shrugs. "Legally in a sense. Let's put it this way. You won't be Arthur Marek anymore but you'll still have a US birth certificate somewhere out there that says that you are but here you'll have a new identity."

Arthur furrows his brows at the once deadly consultant.

"What's your name here?"

Dom laughs. "James Matthews," he waggles his eyebrows. "Really imaginative I know," he laughs again to himself.

Arthur shrugs helplessly at Dom as Dom is staring at him apparently waiting for Arthur's new identity.

"Who do I look like?"

Dom cocks his head to one side. "You look like an Arthur. Not very much like your father." Arthur nods. He had gotten that a lot growing up. He looked very much like his mother. "Are you asking for help choosing a new name?" Arthur feels his face flush and he nods.

"How about Jacob Bloom?" Arthur eyes Dom suspiciously. "I don't know if I feel comfortable taking my father's name. Did you take yours?" Dom's eyes go dark and his face goes stony. "Yes," he breathes after a time, his voice strained and Arthur definitely feels he struck a nerve. He wants to press Dom further but there's a look in Dom's eyes that says: "cease and desist". Arthur thinks it's a shame really as they both could commiserate on their fathers but he can't force Dom to talk about it.

"If you don't like it then just get back to me by the end of the day. Russell knows someone that can get the paperwork…"

"No, its fine," Arthur interrupts, shooting him an apologetic grin. "Jacob Bloom is fine," he plasters a fake grin on his face. It doesn't really matter what his name is right? He'll still be Arthur…

"Ok," Dom nods his head a little, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "Just remember that Arthur Marek doesn't exist anymore here. You'll only be called Arthur by us and even then we may have to address you as Jacob depending on the situation. Can you live with the name?"

Arthur nods vigorously and maybe a bit too eagerly and Miles' words of caution about tumbling down the rabbit hole echo in his brain.

"Ok. I'll tell Russell so we'll get the ball rolling. Sorry to bother you," and he swiftly removes himself from the door frame and slips back into the main warehouse. Arthur listens to his footfalls echo and fade and then Arthur is alone again. Arthur should feel used to it but people were wrapping themselves up in his life and for the first time he didn't feel utterly alone.

* * *

Months go by like trying to keep sand in your palm. It leaks through the cracks and dissolves away. All of them were busy trying to find a new chemist. The chemist that helped Professor Miles back in the '70's and '80's had left to pursue other things after he deemed Miles' experiments too: "time consuming and slow moving". Miles had worked with a few others but never for too long and he mostly had to do things himself by trial and error. Although Miles had some background in chemistry his eyesight was going and his fingers weren't as deft so they needed someone else to help test and correct the compound. Who they could trust was the tricky part.

Dom and Russell had a lot of connections and they knocked heads and came up with a list of names that Arthur could run background checks on to make sure they were still reliable. Months of searching, weeding through names and trying to track down the chemists was sometimes very frustrating but after Arthur finally tracked him down Dom was able to convince them to work with them short term.

Oleksander or "Olly" he insisted on being called was a brilliant man and chemist that Russell and Dom both knew from Oxford. He was from the Ukraine and after he graduated he drifted about like a nomad taking but then rejecting teaching offers all the while traveling and making it hard for Arthur to pin point him. But Arthur did track him down and Olly was persuaded after Dom promised him good money and security and above all a chance to work with something "otherworldly".

Olly is a small, slight, quiet man with a mop of unruly, dark curly hair and a broad face. He wears large glasses and Arthur notices that he seems a bit jumpy and darts around from place to place very quickly like he's on edge. Despite his sometimes odd behavior he is pleasant to talk to but very concentrated on his work.

When they secured Olly as their chemist the other five colleagues breathed what seemed like a huge collective sigh of relief. They now were able to move forward and work on different tasks. Snow is falling steadily in Paris now and whispers are moving their way to the surface about the three men that stole a top secret military device and fled the country. Dom's connections in the US tell him that the feds have already questioned all his acquaintances and have exhausted Arthur's though they are still looking for both men that went AWOL. Arthur is warned not to call anyone back home as it's still too dangerous.

Arthur only has one person he wants to call and as the months pass he feels the mounting desire to hear their voice. He spends his Halloween cooped up in the warehouse working some long hours into the night, Thanksgiving and Christmas are spent with Dom and Mal in Mal's house, New Years lying on the couch by himself watching old movies and Valentine's Day walking through town watching floods of lovers around him walk hand in hand. He admits to himself that he's home sick and in a moment of weakness he calls his number from a payphone with an international calling card.

"Hi."

"Arthur?" Dr. Trollsund sounds genuinely shocked.

It's late at night and he hopes he got the time zone conversations right. He thinks it's probably in the late morning or afternoon in the States.

"Yes," he breathes and he finds himself closing his eyes. It's a little piece of home after four months and it feels so good to hear a familiar voice.

"Arthur are you in some kind of trouble? Some investigators and police came by and asked me about you. They asked me if I knew where you were. Are you alright?"

Arthur looks around to the crowded Paris night streets. Couples are taking leisurely strolls by the Seine looking content and serene and the city is lit up and looks lovelier than ever but there's something heavy sitting on Arthur's chest.

"Yes," he lies.

"They said you went AWOL and that I was supposed to contact them if you ever called or showed up. What happened?"

Arthur knows he's trying to be a good friend and equally good therapist but there was no way Arthur could get into specifics without putting them both in danger.

"I'm in a safe place. I just wanted to let you know…let someone know that I'm ok," he smiles weakly into the receiver and he can feel his heart breaking into a million pieces. He looks up to the brilliant night sky and feels the moon's glow tickling his skin.

"How is everything?" Arthur knows that Dr. Trollsund is referring to his OCD and his "other thing". He also knows that Dr. Trollsund is keeping him on the phone probably in an attempt to figure out where he is. As with everything else Arthur has to let him go too. He thought back when he first arrived in Paris that he could come back to the States, come back to normalcy and possibly see Dr. Trollsund again but that just wasn't in the cards for him at least not for quite some time.

"I have to let you go," and Arthur truly means this and he finds it's getting harder to breath. He won't have anyone to rely on in terms of his disorders but he would have to struggle on and keep going.

"Arthur, wait. I want to help you. I'm concerned. Please…"

"Goodbye," Arthur cuts in, hanging up the phone abruptly, his tears staining the world around him until it's just a dark, swirling mess. Arthur allows himself this moment to mourn a life he left behind and for the scary unknown that awaits him.

* * *

Olly works dutifully, sometimes without rest, testing the Somnicol. More tests are run and thankfully Arthur is sat out on those having tested the Somnicol too much already for his tastes. Russell and Dom step up to the plate to go under and test the compound to much of the same results as with Mal and Arthur. They wake up violently ill and Russell is put on bed rest for a couple days.

Somnicol is deemed ineffective and has to be scrapped. A storm cloud of depression seems to sweep through the warehouse when Olly delivers the bad news. Miles and Dom especially take it hard and Arthur can see how it affects Mal as she feels split and pulled in two different directions as she tries to comfort both of them. Thankfully Olly wants to help develop a new drug as he's grown attached to the work over the few months he's been working on it. It helps the others feel that everything is not totally lost.

There are good times that make their way into Arthur's life. Time passes over him and heals the holes that are in his heart even filling up the ones created by home sickness. He finds himself slowly appreciating Mal and Dom and the little family they have become. Control and routine is something he still struggles with but trust is coming easier as the three of them walk home together every night to Mal's old, small house with the rickety stairs, worn banister, the creaking floors, the ancient floorboards and small windows. It feels larger and rather homey with the three of them moving about in it. They stay in a lot those first few months and Mal cooks for them and they drink good wine that Miles likes to pick out for them. Miles will join them too sometimes. The three of them will sit around the small table with Arthur and joke about the old days and their beginnings of working together and Arthur finds himself smiling with them. None of them pester Arthur about his past or prod him to talk about himself like they're patiently waiting for him to be ready. It fills Arthur up with a certain feeling he cannot describe but he thinks maybe it's something very close to love.

From time to time Arthur is left to himself when Dom and Mal leave to have some time for themselves. Arthur takes the opportunity to explore the city and visit Miles. They formed a bond after they first met each other and Arthur feels special that it's something different than Miles' relationship with Dom and Mal who are his actual family. Miles teaches Arthur how to play chess; they take walks around the École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts. He likes walking around the huge courtyard with Miles and looking up to the old buildings full of so much history. He likes listening to Miles as he relays the history of the school and all the famous people that graduated from it.

"I'd like to go here," Arthur finds himself saying, his head craned up to the tall pillar in the middle of the courtyard with the beautiful sculpture resting on top. Miles chuckles lightly beside him. "A man after my own heart." Arthur meets his eyes and they both smile. "I think we can arrange that," and Miles leads him around the rest of the grand campus and Arthur can't be any more pleased with himself that he made a decision all on his own.

Miles takes him to the Louvre which is very close to the university. They spend a couple hours there and still they didn't see a fraction of its beauty. Miles is patient with him and lets Arthur drag him wherever he wants to go. Arthur could have stayed there all day. They visit the Arc de Triumph and it's another powerful structure that Arthur can't take his eyes off of. He literally has to be dragged away from it. They eat outside at a small café and Miles orders good wine. Arthur is becoming more accustomed to alcohol as all of his team mates do like a good drink. Talk turns to dreams and their work and it could be the good wine or the way Arthur knows he trusts Miles but he finds himself opening up to him, something he hadn't done since talking to Dr. Trollsund.

"I only dream about things that have happened. For whatever reason I don't have unique dreams but lately I keep getting these…these flashes in my head of strange things that feel like dreams but are things that never happened to me like I made them up," he chances looking at Miles fearful of his reaction. Arthur thinks he sounds rather juvenile and stupid for saying it and his cheeks burn a little. He tries hiding them behind his wine glass.

"You say you never have new dreams? You only dream about what has happened meaning memories?"

_Or nightmares_ he adds silently.

Arthur nods and Miles regards him solemnly.

"That's very interesting. Are you sure that these 'flashes' aren't memories that maybe you've forgotten?"

The men eye each other from across the table, the realization playing out on both of their faces. Arthur never thought that maybe they could be memories but why didn't he remember them? Arthur always prided himself on having an excellent memory. It bothered Arthur as the revelation seemed accurate and he knew he would stop at nothing to try to figure the memories out. Miles and him were really the same. They both needed to remember something.

* * *

His happiest times were with Mal. In their off time she teaches him French and the piano. Miles owns a car and Mal insists on teaching Arthur how to drive when he lets it slip that he never learned as he never had anyone show him nor never needed to drive anywhere. Arthur feels childish but also pleased as he takes instructions from Mal and she teaches him how to work the old car. He nearly kills them but they joke about it later, a sweet inside joke.

When spring came and slowly melted the city of dying snow and everything again was in bloom she would teach Arthur how to garden and would take Arthur on little day trips. They visited the Loire Valley Castles, the Chartes Cathedral and they would rent a car and travel up the coast. Mal learns quickly all the things Arthur is slowly realizing he likes. She remembers he loves the beach and ocean from when they first met and Arthur knows she's trying to win him over and have him possibly open up to her more. They walk the beach together watching the many boats on the crystal blue ocean, the endless miles of crystal sand and feeling the gentle breeze in their hair. They roll up their pants and take off their shoes and as they walk Arthur tells her that he's from a small town in New Hampshire and that he lived in a huge house on a cliff that overlooked the Atlantic and that he loved being outside and watching the waves crash into each other.

"I spent as much time as I could outside," he watches gulls lazily ride thermals and tourists running around snapping pictures of everything. The sun is almost blinding and the sand is warm under their toes.

"Why was that, cher?" she asks gently. Arthur feels he does trust her and somehow he feels he owes her after how warm, patient and inviting she's been to him over the past seven months but it's still incredibly hard. He had been hurt and punished by too many people in the past mainly from himself.

"Inside was always a bit stuffy. I didn't like to be inside," he hopes he conveyed in his voice that the subject was off limits. Arthur looks to Mal hesitantly and Mal only nods faintly looking a bit crushed. Arthur knows that look of disappointment and guilt stabs at his insides. She was trying to earn his complete trust only to be shot down once again.

_Maybe in time_, he tells her silently, _I'll be able to tell you everything about all the horrible, ugly and black things about me and inside me but then you'll have a different opinion of me. You'll be scared of me and then you'll know why I don't tell anyone these things. _

Mal is unusually silent then as they walk the beach together and she feels miles away. Arthur realizes he doesn't want things to change. He's beginning to really like his new life as scary and unpredictable as it could be sometimes and he didn't want the others to distance themselves from him.

_If you can be patient with me just a little longer…I know I can be difficult but you didn't do anything wrong, _he wills her silently, urging her with his eyes as she looks about the beach. _Please don't give up on me as sometimes I think I give up on myself._

* * *

The six of them work independently in Warehouse Six most of the time. They'll have meetings but then they'll scatter to each of their respective places in the warehouse. There isn't a lot for Arthur to do but he'll read up on anything and everything relating to the dream sharing device and tries to help Miles look through great volumes of books relating to chemistry and the human anatomy specifically the brain to try to assist Olly as much as they can as he tries to perfect a new compound for the device.

There are many failed attempts at the new compound some of them with negative side effects. Miles is very concerned about them all testing the new drugs but they all are insistent, Arthur included, to try to perfect the new drug knowing that there's no one else that can test it out as the device needs to be kept secret.

More time passes and slips through Arthur's fingers. He enrolls and gets accepted into École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts in the fall with the help of Miles pulling a few strings. He enrolls in the architecture program and is quietly excited that Miles will be his professor after he takes his general courses. Everyone except Russell is very pleased for Arthur.

Though he feels closer to Miles and Mal his relationship with Dom gets stronger too. Arthur would be kidding himself if he thought he never stopped liking him in a certain way or thought he wasn't still dashingly handsome. He didn't know if the attraction was mixed up with hero worship or what. Arthur buries it all down along with the rest of his secrets. When Arthur first started the journey with Dom back at Fort Irwin Arthur felt he had a scar on his heart from feeling betrayed by him, tricked by him and maybe being used by him. Dom was the one that gave him no choice, thrust him into the unknown, plucking him from the military and filled his head with stories about Arthur's father.

Through working with Dom more intimately away from the fake setting as him being the deadly government consultant Arthur sees a new side to him. Though the passion and desire is still there the: "I'll do whatever it takes if it kills me" façade has faded. He's a lot like how he was when he broke into the mess hall with Arthur and made Arthur an omelet. He's calmer and gentler and Arthur isn't sure if it's because of Mal or because the device is secured now. Either way it's becoming on the older man and Arthur finds himself warming up to him. Besides Russell Dom is hardest to place his trust in though as time goes on and Dom practices just as much patience and grace as his girlfriend Arthur finds himself relying on him and Dom takes it seriously. Though the scars are still there from feeling betrayed and used they crust over and heal. Arthur knows Dom makes major efforts in making him feel comfortable and building up their relationship. Although Dom thinks they go unnoticed as at first Arthur shies away or shoots down his invitations to do things or requests to chat they certainly aren't unnoticed. Though Arthur can't say they are the best of friends they're slowly getting to the point where maybe they aren't just simply "comrades".

The Sergeant works his way into the equation somehow. Arthur doesn't like to admit it but he finds himself thinking of the British officer quite a bit. Sometimes when he overhears Russell speaking to Mal or Dom Arthur will stop what he's doing, close his eyes and just listen to the accent and be content with being swept away in memories of a time when he was almost happy upon just hearing a certain someone speak to him outside a bar or inside a bar when he almost certainly didn't hate him. The pleasant memories are clouded with bad ones as well and guilt always twists deep inside him almost leaving him feeling breathless when he thinks of how he left things with the Sergeant. They had argued violently, anger erupting into a fever pitch and Arthur had called him a coward and had finally confronted him about the ridiculous white feather that he had given him that first day they knew they would be working together. He expected a violent retort but instead the Sergeant seemed to be taken down a peg and was visibly crushed, mumbling something to Arthur about: "not remembering". Arthur didn't understand what he meant. He only understood the explicit pain and hurt on the Sergeant's face as he stormed out of his hospital room. And Arthur had tried to make it right after he learned that the bastard was leaving Fort Irwin, their mission together, and his life altogether before saying goodbye or trying to make amends with him. But Arthur was too late. He could only watch him leave from behind the high gated fence; watch him leave quickly from his life without a goodbye just like his father. And why should Arthur care? That was what troubled him the most some nights when he couldn't sleep. Why did he care?

Dom and Mal take him to the Le Ciel de Paris restaurant, the highest restaurant in all of Europe with the view from 56 stories up, for his 22nd birthday. The view takes Arthur's breath away and he can see the Eiffel Tower in the distance looking small from how high up they are. They dine on rich foods and expensive wine and Arthur finds himself strangely happy. He couldn't believe almost a year had passed since he had come to the great city. All of them felt more relaxed and felt they could cut loose a bit more as things in the US had settled down and the feds weren't constantly looking or asking about them. They could splurge and afford to go out more, not feeling they needed to hide all the time. They were feeling safe and content but maybe a little too much so.

* * *

Olly was making good headway on the new drug. He felt confident that by Christmas he should have some good news as the experiments and trials that everyone participated in were resulting in better outcomes. The side effects weren't as bad and all around things were looking up. Everyone seemed to have a bit of a spring in their step from the positive results instead of constant failures, bringing on a much needed burst of confidence in them like a battery recharge.

Arthur overall felt good himself. School was giving him a routine and regimented life again and he felt his OCD was more in check because of it. Though keeping his body in shape was still a priority he still felt himself change as he wasn't as toned or built from so much muscle anymore-consequences of a regimented military life. He kept himself strong and enjoyed jogging by himself and weight lifting with Dom but his body wasn't sharpened like a tool anymore. He looked leaner after losing some of the muscle mass but Mal always complimented him saying he looked more "human" when she caught him frowning at his appearance in a mirror. His hair had grown out as well and he couldn't remember the last time he had enough hair to actually maintain or worry about.

"You look so handsome, cher," Mal would say when she would notice his hair was getting longer too. Arthur had no idea what to do with it as he was blessed or cursed with his mother's Jewish genes and he had naturally more thick and curly hair so he slicked it back like Dom's, replicating it as best he could, wanting it out of his face so he could work.

He was busy and could admit to himself he was happy for probably one of the first times in a long time. He was riding high on the good news about the new compound almost being ready and like most good things in Arthur's life they don't last.

Arthur's mind is going in a million different directions thinking about his finals and the upcoming holidays when he'll be on break from school but also his research. Arthur is going over some of the results of the experiments with Dom as they are alone in the warehouse sitting together on the old weathered couch that Miles insisted on bringing in.

"I need something decent to relax in. My old bones don't like to sit on uncomfortable chairs all day," Miles complained loudly one day. Then before they knew it an old leather couch was pushed up against a wall in the main warehouse portion and nobody questioned it.

Arthur can tell Dom isn't paying attention. He was getting good at recognizing his moods, ticks and overall body language as they've been working alongside each other for more than a year. The older man is bouncing his knee up and down, nibbling on a thumb nail and is darting his eyes all around, everywhere except the documents Arthur is trying to show him. Arthur is reminded of when Dom asked him to be his point man and told Arthur he would have to keep Dom in check and keep him "on point".

"Hey," Arthur snaps his fingers to get Dom's attention and Dom whips his head to Arthur's direction, thumb nail still sloppily inserted in his mouth and his eyes wide.

"What's up with you?" Arthur finds himself asking, annoyance seeping into his once good mood.

"I'm going to propose to Mal," he says in a rush, the words tumbling from his mouth, his eyes going wider and a boyish grin exploding on his face and Arthur knows that they won't be able to get any more work done now. Arthur closes the file and finds himself smiling though he feels surprising pangs of jealousy and flutterings of something else in his stomach.

Dom reaches into his back pocket, unfolding a sheet of paper and sucks in a deep breath. "What should I write vow wise? I'm no good at this stuff," Dom rubs at the back of his head with a pen and smiles sheepishly, throwing Arthur a pleading look. "And you think I'm good at it?" Arthur squeaks out. "Dom, you haven't even proposed yet. I don't think you need to worry about…"

"You have a way with words, Arthur," and his burning blue eyes are begging with Arthur, nervousness erupting on his face and Arthur finds himself nodding because Dom is obviously over anxious and nervous for some reason and Arthur knows Dom wants it perfect for Mal because she deserves it.

Arthur swallows the huge lump forming in his throat down and takes a deep breath.

"I don't want to hear: 'I love you'. I've heard that all before and it's empty and stale. Every time someone has said it to me it turned out to be untrue. They couldn't handle me and didn't want me. I want to hear: 'I'm going to take care of you forever'_," that might release the burden on my heart_ he adds silently. Arthur didn't realize he felt that way until he said the words and his cheeks burn a little in embarrassment upon revealing something so personal.

Dom stops scribbling away at the paper and can only blink at Arthur like he's seeing through him. He nods a little after a while like he's absorbing his statement. Arthur didn't realize until that moment that he was a little tired of being alone but at the same time he thought it was just punishment for what he had did and really who could love him anyway after what he did? He was too afraid to let anyone in anyway.

Dom's mouth is moving but Arthur hadn't caught anything the other man had said, too absorbed in his own thoughts.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?"

Dom smiles and chuckles a little like he caught Arthur red handed. "I said it's good, very good. You're speaking from experience right? You got your heart broken a lot? I always took you for more of a lady-killer or heart breaker myself," he winks and nudges him with his elbow in an attempt to break the tension.

Arthur knows it's a tactic to get to know him just like when Mal took him to the beach in the spring time. Arthur wants to let these people in but it's an uphill battle with himself but he finds he can do it sporadically and slowly. Not too much at one time.

"I don't pursue anymore as a general rule. It always leads to disaster. So when are you going to ask her?"

Dom's eyes widen a little at Arthur's revelation and he blinks several times trying to keep up with Arthur's train of thought. Dom smiles after a time and he goes back to looking a bit nervous.

"Soon, "he says shakily and laughs. "I'd like to be married by next year," Dom shoots him a look and Arthur nods because he thinks that's what he supposed to do in this situation even though he really has no idea.

"Be my best man?"

Arthur feels his heart skip a beat and he almost asks Dom to repeat himself because clearly he didn't hear him right. Surely Dom has other friends he can ask? It's Arthur's turn to blink at him and they stare at each other probably for an uncomfortable amount of time.

_There's no fucking way._

"Sure," he finds himself saying hesitantly instantly regretting it the second it leaves his mouth. Dom's face erupts into elation and Arthur sees the warning signs in his body language that he wants to touch or God forbid hug Arthur. Arthur bolts from his seat in a flash in an attempt to thwart Dom's need to touch him. This apparently only made things worse however because Dom's grinning from ear to ear and leaps up from his seat and is crushing Arthur to him in almost a bear hug mumbling: "Thank you. I need all the help I can get," into Arthur's shoulder. Arthur feels paralyzed, black dots swimming in front of his vision from the too much contact. He closes his eyes and sucks in air like a drowning man. It's too much too soon just like revealing his past. It's all too much. Dom releases him but Arthur is still desperately trying to catch a grip as the room is spinning and it's hard just to breathe. He knows Dom is staring at him but there isn't much Arthur can do besides lean against a wall for support and try to bring himself back down to earth. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten a hug. It was just too much. Sweat is pouring down his back and is forming at his neck and he can't open his eyes or breathe.

"Arthur are you ok?" Dom sounds too close and too concerned. Arthur can only nod. "No, really. Buddy, are you ok?" Arthur hated that endearment but he nods more adamantly not trusting his voice just yet. Arthur's face burns and he feels the obsessions coming on as his body is stressed to the max. He doesn't want anyone to see him this way less of all Dom. "Arthur…?"

"I'm fine," Arthur snaps and his eyes fling open as well to prove the point but he's anything but fine. He propels himself from the wall which he finds out immediately is a bad idea as he goes stumbling forward but thankfully doesn't fall. He waves off help from Dom who is still staring at him and stumbles out of the warehouse as fast as he can. He locks himself in his small bedroom immediately when he gets home and thankfully his OCD doesn't take over until he's behind those closed doors. It claims him to a chair and Arthur's unable to move until he ties his shoes correctly because really his laces are not done right and he could surely slip, fall and die if it's not done right. Time has no meaning for him as he rocks back and forth in the solitary chair, his fingers so sore he swears he'll have blisters in the morning as he ties and unties, a constant futile loop.

He wakes up sprawled out on the floor having no idea how he got there only guessing he passed out from exhaustion. His back and hands are aching horribly, his fingers are blistered and he curses himself until his throat is raw because now he won't be able to work efficiently with bandaged hands. How was he supposed to explain this to everyone? _"I'm sorry. I have OCD and I was tying my shoes all night until my fingers were raw because I also can't handle people touching me if I don't initiate it first."_ Arthur shakes his head and sets to work popping his blisters, feeling miserable, all his good feelings from the night before vanished before his eyes.

He doesn't know what to tell anyone so he doesn't tell them anything when he shows up late to the warehouse that morning with his bandaged fingers. Dom shoots him these confused, apologetic, sympathetic looks and Arthur can't handle their pity. He holes himself up in his office and tries his best not to come out. He snaps at anyone that tries to come in or talk to him and he knows they don't warrant it and it's just his anger with himself that's being projected on them but he can't help it. They avoid him like the plague and even when Mal tries to collect him at the end of the day he barks at her that he is going to walk home by himself. It's childish, juvenile and insane but he doesn't want to talk about it and he doesn't want to see her sad smile that he knows is there without looking. He holes himself up in his room when he gets home and doesn't talk to anyone, his OCD coming on because of his stress again. It's like a vicious cycle.

This goes on for a couple days until they have a morning meeting on the third day. Dom says he has an announcement and he can see Dom and Mal's glowing faces and Arthur knows and he feels the color drain from his face and he wants to stick his tail between his legs and slink out of the room because he feels ashamed on how childish he's been acting, totally losing sight of the bigger picture.

Dom pulls Mal to her feet and the smiles on their faces are priceless. Dom turns to her and there are tears in their eyes.

"Mal has agreed to make me the happiest man alive and to be my wife," he takes her hand and Mal's lips are quivering and everyone around him is sighing and clapping, congratulating them. Mal pulls Dom into a kiss and then Miles is approaching them and it's a big soppy tear fest of hugs and endearments and Arthur is the only one still sitting in his chair feeling like the hugest schmuck in the universe. After the heat of the moment dies down and everyone else except the happy couple has scattered Arthur approaches them and they immediately look a little wary like they're expecting Arthur to snap at them again. Arthur winches at their reaction making him feel even smaller than he already does. Arthur tries to hide his bandaged fingers in his pockets and smiles at them. They look like the happiest couple in the world and Arthur is almost in awe of them.

"I just wanted to congratulate you and apologize for my behavior for the past couple days. I'm very sorry. I've been acting like a huge jackass."

Dom looks down to his shoes, his arm still around Mal and Mal only smiles weakly at Arthur. They still look a little scared of him and Arthur feels his stomach drop. He realized he really cared for these people and didn't want them to be alarmed or scared at how he would react. That's the last thing he wanted. They had shown him great hospitality and he was being rude.

"Whenever you feel ready to tell us what's going on we'd like to know since we're concerned, Arthur and you are living with us," Mal says gently averting her eyes.

Arthur feels a stab at his heart and waves a hand in front of his face. "What is or isn't going on with me can wait," he gestures between the couple and smiles. "This is about you two but I promise I will tell you." He has no idea if he'll be completely honest. Dom can't meet his eyes and Arthur knows he's probably still hurt with how Arthur has been treating him the past couple days. When they go back to work Arthur can only think of ways to make it up to them and he works out a plan.

* * *

Mal and Dom are totally surprised when they walk into the restaurant and all of them are already there; ready to celebrate with them on their recent engagement. Arthur had orchestrated and fronted the surprise party in hopes to apologize and smooth things over with everyone for his recent behavior. Mal and Dom were tickled and totally touched that Arthur had put it together and the fear and wariness they felt towards him the day before seemed to evaporate. Before they shared the good meal together Arthur rose from his chair, clinking on his glass to get everyone's attention.

"I want to propose a toast to the newly engaged couple," Mal and Dom watch him intently and Arthur tells himself he better get used to it if he's going to be their best man. He takes a big breath and continues. "Dom. Mal. You two have been so great to me taking me into your home and into your life. Thank you from the bottom of my heart and I wish you two all the happiness in the world." Mal looks like she may cry and Dom meets Arthur's eyes after probably four days of them not really speaking to each other or looking at each other. "To family," they all raise their glasses, clinking them together and drinking to the sentiment. And Arthur meant what he toasted to. These people were his family and the knowledge sits well with him.


End file.
